


all scotch, no soda

by fishstixx



Series: underhanded, slightly damaged [1]
Category: DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Antarctic Empire TommyInnit, Arctic Empire Tommy, ArcticEmpire!Tommy, BAMF TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Character Death, Dadza, Dave | Technoblade and Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, DreamSMP - Freeform, Everyone is actually, Exile, FeralInnit, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Hybrid TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), No beta we die like jschlatt, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Recovery, Sad TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Misses Toby Smith | Tubbo, Violence, fix it fic kinda?, how are those not tags yet i just want him to be okay, philza’s making up for past mistakes, thats my emotional support gremlin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:13:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 55
Words: 62,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28069098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishstixx/pseuds/fishstixx
Summary: Vulnerability meant trust, though, and trust was a thing not so easily given.-Post-exile and canon divergent, follows the consequences of Tommy’s isolation. Expect chases, heists, bloodshed, and the mending of a family.(Title from You’re All Scotch, No Soda)
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, No Romantic Relationship(s), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: underhanded, slightly damaged [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2064213
Comments: 1802
Kudos: 3469
Collections: Found family to make me feel something, MCYT Fic Rec





	1. Prologue

Logsteadshire had never been home.

Sure, Tommy had lived there for the better part of a year, but not once during that time had it been ‘home’. Far from it- any given moment of his time there was quite possibly the worst in his life. 

Tommy still woke up with tremors in his bones and a shake in his hands despite the walls of his new room being designed specifically to keep out the cold. On those nights, he would creep down the hall to Philza’s room and pull blindly at furs and blankets until a large wing subconsciously lifted for him. He would wordlessly climb into the bed and curl up into the curve of his father’s body- the protection of another’s hold- as he had done so often as a young child.

Tommy didn’t like to speak those nights. He just needed confirmation that he wasn’t alone anymore.

Silently asking for help like that required vulnerability, though. Vulnerability meant trust and trust was a thing that had not been so easily given.

Opening up enough to what was left of his family had been a whole other war. Seeing as Tommy had been in- what, three? Give or take, he tried not to remember that anymore- it shouldn’t have been so hard.

It was a different kind of fight, though, one without duels or fire or explosives. Not quite without blood- exactly once Tommy had sprinted out the door and straight into a tree when Techno tried to catch him- but where before there had been swords, now there were late nights spent crying or throwing sharp words that he didn’t quite mean.

Sometimes, when someone drew near, it felt entrapping. Tommy was a cornered animal in those moments, all wild-eyed and desperate for an escape.

Wild animals bit. Tommy was no exception.

* * *

A black eye and a lackluster apology later, Philza learned that this was not the same boy who would scream and shout for nothing at all. His once rambunctious son was infinitely quieter. Calls that had not been heard resulted in an eventual lack of call at all.

And so he learned to give his youngest son space.

When Tommy was a boy, Philza had often internally compared him to a gosling. It was a metaphor never voiced. Tommy had been loud though; defensive of what he deemed his, angry (often needlessly so), and one who bit for the sake of biting. 

Phil wished he hadn’t favored Techno to the extent at which he had. Maybe then he could’ve taught Tommy with gentle hands to not be so... much. He hadn’t, though, so he could only try and fix the boy he had left.

Said boy was more a feral cat than a goose now. You had to let  _ it  _ come to  _ you._ Sit still, pretend not to notice when it nears. Only when it sat down on its own could you reach out and pet it.

Philza blamed Dream for this transformation. It was easier than blaming himself.

* * *

Techno believed that he was, for all intents and purposes, the reason Tommy was alive.

Being an only child would’ve been fine and dandy, he told himself. He and Tommy hadn’t exactly left on the best of terms last time they’d truly spoken. But the Tommy he’d found wasn’t the same Tommy who had denounced their kinship when Techno had just been sticking to his very specifically outlined set of morals.

The first time he realized this was when he had been in the Nether, gathering materials which he simply could not obtain in the overworld. Hunter’s intuition said he was not alone, and after mild investigation he was hid behind a ledge watching Tommy.

The boy looked like hell, and Techno couldn’t even see his face.

Tommy was stood on the edge of a cliff overlooking a sea of liquid fire. He could’ve been there for years or for hours, by the looks of it, and Techno watched him for another eternity before the boy finally gathered up his things and left.

Techno began making more Nether trips. Tommy, without fail, was already there and distracted by the siren song of molten rock.

When Techno could count the number of times this had happened on two hands, he told Philza. 


	2. A Repossession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first step is often the hardest. And the bloodiest.

In the early morning fog of a new winter, Tommy found he had visitors.

That never happened. He hadn’t seen anyone other than Ranboo or Dream in months, the former of which didn’t come too frequently and the latter being the man who had stripped him of everything.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t conflicted that this wasn’t Dream. Dream was… safe, for lack of a better word. Tommy knew what was expected of him, and as long as he followed those unofficial rules things were more or less pleasant. He wasn’t alone when Dream was around.

Dream was his friend.

So when his father and last surviving brother found themselves at the sharp end of a trident, Tommy believed he couldn’t be blamed. Dream wouldn’t like their being here.

“What do you want?” Tommy barked, pointed and sharp like the teeth he was baring. There wasn’t much effect. Tommy’s voice was hoarse from lack of use and quiet from quelled desire to.

Philza raised an eyebrow. Tommy gave him a harsh poke with the trident. Technoblade grabbed it and shoved it down with strength much surpassing Tommy’s own.

“We just want to help.” Philza’s reply was light and genuine, accompanied with a smile and a welcoming arm raise despite just getting jabbed.

_he’slyinghe’slyingnobodycaresit’sjustpity-_

“Why should I believe you!” Tommy snapped. Despite the heat to his words, his volume did not surpass or even quite reach a shout. He tightened his grip on the handle of his weapon and tried to yank it back, feet scrabbling for purchase on the grass with no success. Tommy was just too malnourished to be able to get his own harpoon back from his brother’s single-handed grasp.

Technoblade quirked an eyebrow as well- a habit picked up from Phil, one which Tommy and Wilbur had also acquired in their youth- and let go. Tommy collapsed backwards, his trident falling after him and smashing into his forehead.

Tommy lay on the ground, motionless as his whole world spun around him. It seemed that he had very suddenly acquired a headache.

Two faces appeared in his vision, hovering over him. One was blank, the other was concerned.

“I don’t want your pity.” Tommy rumbled out quietly, and the overwhelming fashion of it all made his eyes well with tears. One of the heads disappeared from view and a soft thump sounded beside him.

When he rolled over to see what had happened, his father was on his knees with his wings folded behind him and arms extended in invitation.

And hell, if the emotion Tommy felt next wasn’t primal. His fists pulled up clumps of grass as he scrabbled desperately towards the awaiting hug.

Tommy threw himself into Philza’s arms. Wings folded around him, shielding him from the world and everything that had hurt him. A second pair of arms surrounded him from behind, a quietly snuffling snout pressing into the back of his shoulder.

Philza held. Tommy cried.

* * *

Hands stained green and black from soot and grass clutched at Philza’s shirt, desperate for his father’s comfort as broken sobs and wails escaped Tommy. 

The fog cleared as morning turned to afternoon. Tommy did not get prompted until he had no more tears to shed and was a little tuft of blonde hair hidden shaking beneath silver wings.

A gentle hand pushed Tommy’s hair out of his eyes. It was a gaze dulled with lost hope, now shining with mist. Maybe not the best way to shine, but at least something was being felt. That meant there was still plenty of boy left to salvage.

It was not lost on Philza that Tommy was quieter now. A year ago, it was likely that he would’ve gotten a boot to the face for entering when his son was mad and responding by offering a hug. Or, at the very least, an arsenal of colorful words. Tommy always did have quite the vocabulary.

Now, though, the boy had cried on his father. Be it intentional or not, a soft spot had been shown. A quiet and gentle opening to offer help.

“Come with us, Tommy.” The eldest of the group whispered, fingers carding through tangled and unkempt hair. Tommy agreed.

* * *

The only thing Tommy had to shield him from the cold was a worn and faded hand-me-down trenchcoat. Everyone knew intuitively who its last owner was.

Philza offered his fur cloak for the journey instead. It was warmer, more practical. Tommy growled at him instead.

“Wilbur raised me,” He’d spat.

Philza was reminded that though Tommy was coming with him, there was yet to be any forgiveness. He couldn’t blame him. It was true, after all.

Philza took Technoblade hunting, showed him the ins and outs of the world. He had not believed that he could give all three boys the attention needed, so he’d focused on one. Now he knew that was a mistake.

His two younger boys paid the price for his negligence. Philza could only try to correct what- who- was left.

Wilbur and Tommy had craved the attention that had been given to Techno instead. The need for attention resulted in stunts of grandeur and martyrdom. His boys were not molded by the tender hands of a parent, they were forged by fire and warfare.

An artifact of said warfare interrupted their leave.

Before them stood a masked figure clad in lime, sword drawn. That eerily smooth voice spoke and Tommy paled.

“Where are you three off to?”

Tommy disappeared behind wings raised and fluffing out. Techno stood beside Phil, breath billowing out in a cloud as he huffed.

“You have something of ours, Dream. We’re simply taking it back. Call it a repossessing, if you will.”

Weapons and hackles raised as the two sides faced off. Instead of addressing the warriors before him, though, Dream addressed the weak link.

The boy.

“Come home to me, Tommy.” He answered, cool and level despite the gravity of the situation. Tommy remained frozen to the spot and trembling like a hunted rabbit. “These two haven’t cared about you until now.”

“I-“ Tommy started, but he was cut off by his kin shuffling backwards into him. Philza spoke next.

“I’ve always cared about you, Tommy.” The man said, not taking his eyes off the white mask despite addressing someone else. “I just didn’t believe I could help you. You don’t have to forgive me, but please. You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

“You’re not alone.” Dream’s rebuttal came just as easy as the rest of him. “You have me. I’m the only one that stayed, Tommy. Don’t throw that away.”

“He’s using you.” Techno warned, bluntly. “If he has power over you, he has power over everyone else too. Don’t give it to him.”

Tommy looked to his hand, where his trident was clutched so tightly in his fist that his knuckles were white. The weapon was hidden behind the bulk of Technoblade’s form.

He sized up the gap between Techno and Philza, staring at Dream through it. It was weirdly reminiscent of his first duel.

This time, he didn’t miss.

* * *

There was a sickening crack and a thud as the trident struck its target and green turned crimson. Tommy had made his decision; now he just had to get Phil and Techno out of the shock of it.

“Let’s go!” He hissed, grabbing the fabric of both their coats as he started pulling backwards and away from the body. Tommy knew fighting. Throwing a trident at the problem had been much easier than arguing with it.

Finally, Phil and Techno rounded on their heels and took off, leading Tommy to the shore where boats were left. Tommy piled into Phil’s as they pushed off.

A furious shout made him turn around. Dream was standing on the bay, shaky and hunched over, body contorted with pain as he held the trident in place.

Tommy’s eyes rounded and he did not look back.

The boat ride to Techno and Phil’s cabin was quiet, the family in a shell shocked silence. Their world had changed so much in the past hour that not one of them could comprehend it. Except maybe Techno, but Tommy believed him the exception to all rules and did not look at him.

At least the new place was nice, much nicer than his old tent. He was shown to a room and left alone for the night to clean up. 

There was a hell of a lot of cleaning up to do. Tommy hadn’t looked at himself in a mirror for months; now he was standing here and facing off with a stranger who looked more rabid raccoon than man. His eyes were shadowed, the color of pretty much all of him dull and faded- his shirt, his bandanna, his eyes and hair. The only color on his cheeks were from grime and blood.

He slid off Wilbur’s old coat, folding it and digging around for a nice and hidden place to tuck it. He settled on a box in the bottom of the closet and left it there after checking the pockets for his compass.

Later that night, after he had washed his face and was lying in bed staring at a new ceiling, the needle of his compass shifted directions. Tommy was not there to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love symbolism and i think that is very sexy of me  
> every single comment gives me life and really really does inspire me to keep writing! where the last chapter was a prologue, this is where the story really kicks off hehe so let me know what you think!  
> (next chapter is a tubbo chapter btw <3)


	3. A Prairie of Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the promised tubbo chapter. there’s more blood in this one folks, stay safe

Before the war, it was just him and Tommy against the world.

Or... maybe that was an overstatement. Wilbur was so often there to extend them a hand in the place of a parent, but for the most part it was Tommy and Tubbo. 

Especially as children. Real children, before the wars had saged them. They were two parts of a whole, glinting eyes and twin smiles running through the fields away from their worldly problems. When they were among the wheat and bees and flowers, there was nothing else but them.

Back then, when Tubbo would feel eyes on him, it was a pleasant experience. _He_ was the one receiving equal attention to what he was giving, and it was good. The air rang with laughter and the breeze and everything was golden.

Tubbo would disappear among the wheat and barley and come up with fistfuls of white daisies that seemingly had not been there before. His hands and cheeks streaked with dirt, he would thrust them into Tommy’s hands to stay in his pockets until the sun set and the brunt of their energy had been spent.

Those moments were the calmest. They would lay in the field among the bugs weaving crowns of snow out of Tubbo’s flowers.

They never took home the crowns. It was Tubbo’s idea, at first, to bury them where the flowers had been found so nature knew what it had been wanted for. And though Tommy teased him that first time, he complied and the crowns were buried.

It was a ritual, from there, that continued into their teenage years.

When the first battles started, the boys had to postpone time spent in their special field in favor of protecting it. Daily excursions turned to weekly, but still they continued.

It was during one of those evenings when Tubbo had prompted Tommy for his beliefs and received the first ever genuine thought in response. Laying on their backs in the field, the world ended at the edge of their prairie.

Tubbo looked into those bright blue eyes and saw the best in Tommy, knew those opinions were there; but for whatever reason, his best friend kept those musings to himself.

Tubbo had brushed it off as a vulnerability thing before. Now that Tommy was letting Tubbo into his thoughts, he promised to cherish and protect that trust.

“Tommy? Do you ever think we’re wasting our young years fighting a war we can’t win?”

Tubbo remembered the question and its answer clear as day, like it hadn’t happened years and a lifetime ago. He also remembered the haunting fear of being slain again and again until he had no more lives to give.

“Of course not.” Tommy had laughed, but there was a serious inflection to his voice that Tubbo honed in on immediately. When the silence that followed stretched on, Tommy elaborated.

“No. We burn, steal, rob, get into duels… _man_ , do we have fun.”

And Tommy laughed so Tubbo laughed, even though the thought of Tommy living exclusively for fun had bothered him even all the way back then.

* * *

Tubbo was fifteen when their secret fields of gold erupted in bright, flaring wisps of yellow. It had only been the color of morning sunshine for the briefest of moments before red and then ugly black claimed it.

* * *

Tubbo exiled Tommy. Tubbo returned to their field, which even years later was still coated in ash.

* * *

Days before his first Christmas without Tommy, Tubbo had worked up the nerve to step through the portal.

Tommy looked at him.

Tubbo lost his resolve and ran.

* * *

It took a full year for him to ever make it through that portal again, this time with enough determination to finally communicate with the one he had cut strings with. Instead of Tommy, he found a tyrant on the ground holding a trident he’d been impaled with.

He should’ve come sooner.

* * *

“Let me help you!” Tubbo snapped, hands grabbing for the weapon Dream for some reason insisted on keeping in him.

“This isn’t helping!” Dream roared in retaliation, but his voice faltered and blood dribbled from his mouth down his chin. Oh, this was bad. Bad, bad, bad. “One, the points are hooked backwards, it’s not as easy as just ‘taking it out’! Two, this is the plug keeping most of my blood in my body! I need it to stay there!”

“O-okay, uh,” Tubbo faltered, his ears going back as bile rose in his throat. He managed to muster up enough coherency to make an idea. Dream’s head lolled back as Tubbo slid off the topmost layer of his suit.

Not strong enough himself to tear it, he pressed the seam into the point of his stub horn and used that to rip.

Tubbo’s hands shook as he crowded fistfuls of fabric around the weapon. It was impossible not to gag as he felt the warmth soak through.

“This might hurt,” Tubbo replied unhelpfully as he pulled Dream’s hands away from the handle of the weapon.

The scream that sounded shook Tubbo to his core, but he couldn’t afford to dwell on that now. The bloodied trident clattered to the ground.

Finally, he pressed the rest of the fabric he had left against the wound on Dream’s middle and started trying to help him up. It was mostly a one-sided struggle.

“Who did this?” Tubbo whispered as he guided Dream to the portal.

Tubbo already knew the answer. His own wounds still began to hurt anew, and back home the flowers beside his bed were yellow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shakes in color symbolism
> 
> please let me know thoughts/opinions/theories/favorite moments, anything!! this is one of my favorites i’ve written so far and your guys comments make me so so happy and keep me writing <3


	4. Dangerous is the Hand That Holds The Fork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> remember the prologue?  
> tw again for blood, injury, and implications of a panic attack

Wilbur’s coat had a new home where Tommy had hidden it in the back of his closet. For now it stayed there, an artifact of an earlier era of Tommy’s life.

His compass had relocated, though. Not far, just from the pocket to Philza’s enderchest so that if he ever had to run from here, too, he would still have it. Wilbur’s coat stayed hidden in the room that had come to be Tommy’s. He didn’t have space to spare in his enderchest and he’d decided he would be okay if it had to stay with Phil and Techno. Wilbur had been their kin too, after all.

Ghostbur had moved on some months ago, passing from a ghost of this realm to a spirit in another following his coming to peace with his past. Tommy was sure he could somehow find and talk to his older brother, should he really need to, but he let him rest. He didn’t want to bother anyone, didn’t want to lose his family too now when that was all he had left.

Some days, he thought he really needed Wilbur even after being given refuge and a place in the second Arctic Empire. Philza and Techno had hurt Tommy before, even if they were trying to fix it now. Wilbur had, too, but in a different fashion. Tommy had been included in Wilbur’s descent into madness whereas Phil and Techno hadn’t bothered to include him at all.

And so Tommy cried on his own, in the empty room Philza kept trying to push Tommy to decorate. He couldn’t bear to do even that, the thought of having to move again taking up too much of his mind.

The threat of losing everything again roared at him, and Tommy clung to his few enderchest possessions like a lifeline and nothing else. Of course, he treasured Wilbur’s coat, but even if Tommy left, it would still be in possession of Wilbur’s family. He was oddly okay with that.

What he was not okay with, though, was when Techno innocently tried to swipe a roll off of Tommy’s plate like they had done lightheartedly as kids.

Tommy’s fist slammed down onto a hand of pale fur, pulling a noise of surprise from his brother as his palm was practically punched down onto the table. Philza, startled, instinctively rose, which only ruffled Tommy more. The youngest bared his teeth, flashed his middle finger, and stormed off with his plate in tow.

It took a few days for Tommy to start eating with them again, and the first day back was dead silent. Tommy was content to shove the food into his mouth quickly and wolfishly before abandoning them to go pace the length of his room or obsessively open and close his enderchest to ensure everything was still there.

Though not a pleasant experience, it had been what Philza had needed. A show of what was wrong so he could work to help fix it.

It started off as little things, the offering of minor possessions that Tommy was surely wanting to get for himself like a second plate or an extra blanket for the cold. Quickly, that advanced and Philza started returning from outings with useless trinkets he thought Tommy might enjoy, if only for a fleeting moment, to show he had no desire to take and only to give.

The second time Techno had dared to borrow something off Tommy’s plate without warning, he got stabbed with a fork. 

Okay, so it got worse before it got better. The third time, Tommy jumped but did not go on the offensive.

From there Philza learned that it was okay to start pushing Tommy’s boundaries a little. This was never something Tommy had liked. Tolerated, maybe, but never liked.

He’d pretended to be asleep when Philza came in with bandages to wrap his wounds. Undeterred, Philza just lifted up Tommy’s limp arm and gently started pulling away the old fabric to replace with the new.

The injuries were better than when they’d first picked up Tommy, but it had only been a week. Plenty of nasty ones remained. Phil tutted while he taped down the end of the wrap, changed the bandage on the side of Tommy’s face, and began to retreat to the dim light of the reading room.

“Wait,” Tommy had said, all soft and rough and scared. That one word meant everything to Philza.

Of course he stopped and turned. He was faced off with a boy looking at him with the covers pulled over and around his head with gray eyes as big and round as moons.

Everyone forgot that Tommy was a child, too. Philza never forgot. Especially not when Tommy mumbled a soft “I don’t want to be alone again”.

Early the next morning, Techno found Philza in Tommy’s barren room. Both were asleep, holding onto each other in the dim light of the rising sun.

* * *

Off-days were frequent. Tommy would wake up and be on the offensive for the entirety of the day, snapping at Philza and Techno whenever they tried to help. He called them kidnappers, thieves, every name of the sort under the sun despite the fact that Tommy had come willingly.

“Dream was using you,” Philza said gently, patiently, as he took a step closer.

Technoblade was out hunting. Even though it was just the two of them in the wooden cabin, Tommy felt as if the walls were closing in on him. There was nothing and nobody around except for Philza, who didn’t care, had never cared and just wanted the pride of fixing something broken-

Tommy ducked his head and clutched at his hair, hissing and spitting behind his arms for Philza to let him go. The taller man stepped forward again to try and take Tommy’s hands, stop him from hurting himself-

And Tommy couldn’t take the suffocation anymore and bolted. Philza had barely any time to react before Tommy ducked beneath his arm and dove for the door.

Wings flapped frantically to try and keep his balance but only succeeded in startling Tommy more. The boy was simply faster, out the door and into the snow in a matter of seconds.

Thankfully Techno was just returning, a rabbit slung over his shoulder. He immediately noticed the commotion and dropped his quarry just as Tommy exploded from the door.

Techno dove to try and restrain his brother, but Tommy was faster and tolled before any contact could be made. Unfortunately, in his wild fervor, his attempted disappearance into the woods was stopped by a single pine.

Tommy struck the tree with all his momentum before collapsing back into the snow. The snow was speckled with red as the attempted escapee lay there, chest rising and falling with gasped breaths. The bark had scored rough, uneven scrapes from his nose up to his forehead; blood was already pouring from one nostril, and the only reason Tommy was able to get to his hands and knees was the fact that being on his back made copper touch the back of his throat.

He was still there, coughing and panting, when Philza reached him. Techno had already collected his rabbit and gone back inside, satisfied that nature had stopped his brother.

Tommy looked up at Philza and spat at his feet before surrendering to his room for the night. It saved him further embarrassment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is happier i promise 
> 
> lmk your thoughts, as always your guys’ comments really keep me writing!! it’s crazy to me that this already has as many hits as it does 😭😭 n e weigh, i read and cherish every comment and if ur reading this ily mwah


	5. Good Plan, Theseus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for descriptions of wounds, implied death, + phil takes silence as consent to help. of course silence does not mean yes and i’m very sorry but that’s a lesson learned in a later chapter

Thankfully that was the only escape attempt that lasted long enough to garner any real success. Philza spent the whole rest of the day trying to get Tommy to let him fix his face, and was so amazingly rewarded by not being allowed into the room until the next morning.

Tommy was sat on the very furthest corner of the bed, the comforter pulled around him so tightly that he looked like one of the little nesting dolls sat on the fireplace mantle of Philza’s childhood home. Everything but his face was shielded from view.

Said face was contorted in a deep set scowl, a wound akin to a large friction burn covering his face and forehead like a mask. Philza sat down on the opposite side of the bed from Tommy and set down the things he’d brought, granting Tommy the space he had failed to the night before.

“I want to help you.” Philza said. Tommy huffed and puffed like a bull, cool grey eyes trained on the winged man.

Okay, so that hadn’t worked. Tommy still had his jaw clamped like an angry terrier, so Phil tried again.

“Please, that must hurt.”

“I know,” Tommy snapped. Phil took up the rag he’d brought in his hand, and when Tommy didn’t protest, he accepted that as his son’s new form of silent agreement.

Phil shuffled so he was less seated on the edge of the bed, and Tommy moved towards him as well. Once the boy was no longer in the corner, he lifted the damp rag and began carefully cleaning away at the scrape.

“You could’ve at least tried to clean yourself up,” Philza attempted to lighten the mood as he worked at the height of Tommy’s cheek, his son’s eyes pressed shut and lips clamped. He was answered with a grunt.

It was slow going, cleaning away chips of bark, dead skin, and dried pinpricks of blood. Phil managed. As he was putting the rag away and trading it for some salve he’d brought in, he spoke.

“You don’t need permission to go use the basin, if that’s what kept you in here. It’s your house too now.” 

Tommy looked up as a thumb was swiped over the edge of the scrape and the beginnings of a bruise, the cooling sensation of whatever was being used on him bringing him some semblance of relief from the stinging. He nodded once, twice, then again mutely.

* * *

Tommy spent the afternoon out of his room, which was a great relief for everyone involved. Today was a little lighter, a little brighter than the one before, and the cabin was definitely more lively with Tommy’s taunts and jeers.

“What do you guys even do around here?” He asked, hanging upside down on the couch as he tossed a slime ball up to hit the ceiling. He would watch it stick, wait, and then catch it when it fell back down to his waiting hands.

“Survive, mostly.” Phil answered as he piled logs into the fireplace. The heat swelled with the renewal of the source, filling the building with pleasant warmth that starkly contrasted the snow outside.

“Well, that’s bloody boring.”

“Hunting and fishing is fun. Peaceful. You should try it.” Techno chimed in helpfully. It was a response that went unappreciated.

“Yeah, well. I’ve had plenty of peace lately. Surely you two get up to _something.”_

“I told you, Tommy, retirement. That means only minimal crime.”

That statement grabbed Tommy’s attention quickly, and he floundered off the couch with a pained ‘umph’ when his attempt to sit up failed. He looked up and was met with the half-amused, half-unimpressed black stare of the boar creature he had the pleasure of calling his brother.

“Minimal crime is still _some_ crime! C’mon, lay it on me, Blade. What do you get up to?”

Techno did not immediately answer, instead taking a mug of black coffee pressed into his hands by Philza. Tommy eagerly awaited his own cup, only distracted from the task at hand until he realized that he had been given tea instead.

“Sometimes the things we need are… easier to obtain in lands we’re not allowed into. And sometimes we need things that we can’t craft ourselves.”

“I did find quite a good mine near the Badlands,” Phil mused. “If you two need to get out, I’m sure there’s something you can go do while I see if it’s still untouched.”

Tommy silently pumped his fists in the air while Techno looked on, unimpressed that he was back on babysitting duty. 

* * *

Tommy was told to stay quiet. Tommy listened, because now it was drilled into his head that he had to.

If Techno noticed anything odd about the obedience, it was not said. 

Tommy was just thankful he was somewhere relatively familiar, even if so much time had passed and transformed the Bad Lands into a much more urban area than he remembered. They were only here to loot the chests of whoever had the nearest home, kill time before Philza was done for the day. Little room for mistakes.

So, of course mistakes were had.

Tommy had no clue whose home they were raiding in broad daylight, but it clearly did not belong to the most intuitive of people. Technoblade was crouched at the door with one ear perked while Tommy grabbed everything of value out of the chests. 

Suddenly, Technoblade raised a bow, notched an arrow, and drew the string. Moments after he released, a thump sounded, the scream cut off before it could sound. Tommy jerked up and looked to his brother.

“It gets easier the more you do it.” Technoblade answered, and Tommy could only nod. Whether he was referring to the presumed murder or the robbery was anybody’s guess. It was quite possibly both.

“Nobody’s seen us. We should just go now.”

“Good plan, Theseus.” 

Tommy jumped down their tunnels first, followed closely by Techno. It was a good haul, all things considered- nothing that they couldn’t have earned on their own, of course, but looting was easier. It didn’t hurt that the thrill made Tommy feel more alive than he’d felt in a long time.

They escaped the Bad Lands just as the body was found, and the pair slipped unseen off into the landscape surrounding them.

* * *

Back on their own turf, Tommy had spread out the earnings on the plain little table they usually ate at. It was more things than he’d held in a long time, nevermind things of _value_. He’d dropped more sets of iron armor than he cared to count at Dream’s command, and now that he’d escaped he earned all its worth and more back in one trip with his brother.

Thinking about Dream instantly killed the spark that had just recently gotten relit, so those thoughts were suffocated before they could continue. Instead Tommy just went about counting everything over and over again until Phil returned home.

“Tommy!” The man greeted, toeing the door shut behind him. Tommy looked up, all wide-eyed and owlish at the interruption.

“One moment,” Philza nodded, tipping his hat before slipping off down the hall. Curious, Tommy watched until he reappeared.

At his son’s curious look, Phil offered a sly grin and moved aside. “I, ah, made you something. A gift of sorts. Call it an early Christmas, or an apology for yesterday. I left it in your room.”

Tommy side-eyed Philza, watching him for a moment to make sure there was no ‘Sike!’ to follow up. When a hand raised to wave Tommy to his room, he finally slunk off down the hall and pushed open his door.

Inside waiting for him was a jukebox.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes family bonding time is committing murder with your war criminal older brother
> 
> ur guys’ comments make my heart go brr brr <3 i check them a whole bunch and reread old ones, shoot me opinions/theories/favorite parts!!


	6. Ashes, Ashes

Tommy had fallen asleep to the gentle timbre of Chirp filling his room and rested easily for the first time in months.

When he awoke, his vision was filled with white.

His first thought was that it was finally his time to die. Normally this would be taken in stride. Now, though, he was being fed regularly, and he had the company of someone other than Dream. _Two_ someone’s, even, who never hit him to hurt and only took things from him that they could immediately trade back. 

So, in a fashion that was finally semi-sane, he panicked.

His breathing picked up and he looked around wildly. There was nothing and no one, just that damned white light stretching on endlessly.

Until hands found his face.

Tommy’s gaze was pulled up as his brother materialized before him. Not Techno, but his real and first brother. 

Wilbur smiled.

Tommy fell into his arms and clutched at the yellow sweater, and when his fists unintentionally found the tear, he was reminded who exactly had taken Wilbur from him.

The sob he emitted was entirely manly, strong; not at all pitiful and quaking with unsteady grief that had never quite been expressed. He clutched at fistfuls of sweater as Wilbur held him, sealing the emptiness of what once had been a fatal wound closed with his hands.

Hands were in his hair, around his back, and Tommy felt safe. He knew he wasn’t, though, and he looked up into Wilbur’s brown doe eyes as a question found his tongue.

“Am I dead, Wil?”

Wilbur gently pulled Tommy into him again, tucking the younger boy’s head beneath his chin as he swayed. This was not Ghostbur. Finding peace had resulted in vast, empty spaces of his brother’s memory being filled. Wilbur didn’t feel as cold and hollow as Ghostbur had, either, his hold just as warm and real as it had been in life.

“No, Tommy. You’re dreaming.”

Tommy frowned. This was not an option that he had considered. 

He never dreamed, not pleasantly at least. And though his heart was thundering in his chest, this was still certainly a pleasant dream. Wilbur, Wilbur, Wilbur. Wilbur was here and Wilbur was himself.

“Why did you bring me here?”

Tommy’s wet face was lifted up by warm palms. Wilbur had grown serious in a way Tommy hadn’t seen in months.

“There’s someone you need to talk to. I’m sorry, Tommy.”

* * *

When Tommy awoke a second time, it was like his body had backpedaled.

Before, enough time had passed that the minor scrapes had healed over and the more serious ones were starting to do so too. His frame had been no longer weak and ravaged by hunger, his hair had been brushed enough that he didn’t look like a feral animal plucked right out of the most unforgiving of woods.

Now he was back to emaciation. Old cuts hurt anew. The circles under his eyes, just starting to fade, were back with a vengeance.

This was not the beginnings of Arctic Empire Tommy. This was Exile Tommy at his worst.

Flesh wounds were visible, ugly and bleeding as they had been back at the time when he ran clean out of medical supplies and had been forced to leave everything untreated. 

At least the world around him wasn’t white. He was back at L’Manburg, standing behind a bench overlooking the sunset.

The seat had a gravitational pull to it and Tommy crept forward. His steps were uncertain, light as they were when he was unsure if he would have to run. He found his place on the bench and looked out across a home that was no longer his.

* * *

Tubbo was not lucky enough to get an explanation.

When he opened his eyes, it was impossibly bright compared to his dark and cold little office despite the oncoming dusk. He rubbed at his eyes, and only when he pulled his hands away did he notice a tuft of wild, blond hair.

“Tommy?” He asked, quiet. He was not graced with an answer.

Tubbo placed a hand on the back of the bench, fingers tracing over the wood as he circled around to sit. He looked over at his friend and was met with an unfamiliar face.

“Hello, Tubbo.”

Tubbo swallowed and looked away from Tommy, unable to face him. Facing him meant looking at the consequences of his actions head-on, and though he believed what he had done was right for his country, looking at that ashen and wan face made his heart twist in a way that physically hurt. This had been his only best friend, his closest confidant, and Tubbo had been forced to hurt him for the good of the people.

He never wanted to hurt Tommy, but sometimes hands had to be burned to put out bombs. Tommy was certainly self-destructive like one.

“Look at me, Tubbo.”

Tommy had called Tubbo a yes-man on more than one occasion. Apparently he had been right, because an invisible force compelled him to look.

The grey gaze he looked into seemed more dead than alive, unusually matte and dull for eyes- nevermind eyes that belonged to Tommy. Tommy, the only boy who had ever told Dream no and paid for it with everything.

Tubbo’s ears flattened, went back against his head, and he jerked his head back to the sky to keep himself from crying. Tommy still looked at him.

“Why did you do it, Tommy?” Tubbo finally asked, quiet. “To Dream?”

Tommy did not react, which in and of itself was odd. It was beginning to dawn on Tubbo that the consequences of exile were not just physical.

“It gets easier the more you do it.” Tommy answered, and then both of their eyes were on the endless sky.

Silence dragged on until Tubbo finally felt his emotions boiling up again, up up and rising like the black smoke of their field.

“That doesn’t- that doesn’t help anything or anyone!” He shouted, screwing his eyes shut and clawing at his hair. Tommy continued to stare at nothing with those empty gray eyes that looked a long way into things. “You just about killed him! You’ll never get out of exile by doing that, Tommy, you know that!”

“Dream won’t let me get out of exile at all.” Tommy answered, and the ghoulish emptiness of his tone made Tubbo shudder.

“He- that’s not true, he will. He has to.”

Tommy’s fire was clearly out. A bad thing, of course, but it did keep Tubbo’s own fire from rising with it. When Tommy snapped at him, called him names and made Tubbo feel like he was leading wrong because he wasn’t doing it Tommy’s way, Tubbo did mean things back.

Like exile his best friend.

“You know that’s not true,” Tommy said, and he smiled. There was blood in his teeth. “I am the only one that was ever able to tell Dream no, so he got rid of me. And even after I’m all obedient, he’ll remember what I did, who I used to be, and he’ll keep me out on the off chance I change. You need to tell him no, Tubbo.”

“I can’t.” Tubbo replied hoarsely. His face fell to his hands and buried there like he could hide himself from the world. “I can’t tell him no. He’ll destroy everything.”

“He’ll destroy it all anyways, just for the joy of watching the ashes fly.” Tommy answered, and when Tubbo looked up, his friend was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i am a tubbo apologist, no i am not sorry
> 
> FINALLY my favorite chapter thus far!! give me the slightest prompting and yes i will character analysis/psychoanalyze the block people 
> 
> i read and love love love every little comment you guys keep leaving me, and if you’ve made it to this far ilysm!! please consider dropping a comment or kudos, it means the world to me! now. for you *blows kiss to the air* and for tubbo *blows kiss to the grass*


	7. Snapbunny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for allude to animal death and mention of injury

Tommy was satisfied.

Though his fire had died, his flare for the dramatics hadn’t, and when he woke up a third time there was a sickly sort of satisfaction from poking at all of Tubbo’s weak spots.

He still hurt for his friend, impossibly so, but at least he had gotten to see him and interact with him. Give Tubbo his thoughts raw, and behind the protection of Wilbur so that should he meet Tubbo again he could call him crazy for bringing up a dream.

He hurt for Wilbur too now, though, so he found the box in the closet and pulled on the trench coat. It smelled of ash, but it smelled of Wilbur, and the bittersweet comfort was worth the look Philza gave him when he emerged from his room.

Reminded of what Philza had done, Tommy just glowered at him and pushed past him out into the snow.

The cold bit through the fabric of Wilbur’s coat, but that was okay. The warmth of his brother’s hands was still on his face and that was enough.

Tommy followed the hoofprints out of the house and through the snow. Techno was beginning to show him the survival skills he’d never been taught, like trapping and wiring and hunting. Tommy didn’t much care about those things, but time with Techno was time spent not alone so he followed anyway.

Tracking was easy here. Snow made every print obvious, but Techno was beginning to push Tommy to try it where the snow was sparse after being interrupted by tree branches. That, Tommy cared for much less.

When he came over the form of a blue-cloaked creature crouched down, Tommy peered over Techno’s shoulder down at what he was doing. 

“What are you doing?” He asked, even though he could clearly see. (Just because he could see did not mean he understood.)

“Wiring a trap. Here.” Techno lifted up a coil of wire, and the way it glinted and glittered in the sunlight like silver snow immediately enraptured Tommy. He took it.

“Careful, it’s very easy to cut yourself with. One wrong pull and it can slice down to the bone.”

“Down to the bone,” Tommy echoed, turning the coil over in his hands. “You said you were doing what with it?”

“Wiring traps. For animals, like rabbits and deer.”

Tommy would rather make friends with the rabbits than eat them, but he passed back the wire anyways because he was very much so willing to sacrifice them if it meant not going hungry again. 

Techno began looping the wire through the hook of the trap, slow and deliberate so Tommy could see. Tommy looked, and Tommy listened.

“Paws catch the slip-knot and it tightens so they’re trapped.” Techno explained. “Sometimes it catches a head instead of a foot, though. I like it better when that happens. The struggling pulls the wire to cut the throat and makes the death faster.”

“Damn brutal,” Tommy commented. There was no judgement to his tone, just morbid curiosity.

“Blood for the blood god,” Technoblade answered. There was a snip as Techno pulled wirecutters from the pocket of his clothes and clamped the excess wire.

“I don’t suppose you use the wire for anything else, do you?” 

Technoblade sensed the interest in Tommy’s tone and pushed himself to his feet, brushing powdery snow off his knees. He handed what was left of the wire to Tommy.

“Some people use wire as a weapon. It’s not just wire when you do that, though, it’s called a garrotte.”

“Can you teach me?” Tommy blurted, and Technoblade patted his shoulder with one heavy, hoofed hand.

“I don’t know much, but I suppose so.”

* * *

Tommy’s woolen gloves were replaced with insulated leather. Techno said it was to keep him from slicing his palm open when he was swinging around a death rope.

He liked the white leather more than the black wool, anyways. Black disguised him during nights in L’Manburg. He had not been there in many moons and the white kept him hidden in Arctic all-the-time.

He’d had to cuff the sleeves of Wilbur’s trench coat to keep them from slipping down to get in the way. Tommy thought he looked very badass sitting underneath the awning of Techno’s little outdoor workshop-thing with all of the necessary crafting supplies spread out on the frozen ground before him.

“You need a handle on one of the ends to keep it in your hands. Figure it out.” Techno had said, and slipped off to the edge of the forest to set up more traps.

This suited Tommy just fine. It seemed easy enough, wood and every tool he could possibly need set out before him. There was a fire pit just outside the awning, and Tommy couldn’t imagine needing something he did not have access to. 

It turns out Tommy was not very handy. There was a small army of handle parts, wooden cylinder halves that had turned out wrong for some reason or another and gotten cast aside. 

He groaned as he grabbed for another block of wood. His hands were sore- especially at the joints of his fingers- and he had bitten three splinters out of his palm already.

He secured the block into the brace so he could saw the corners down enough that it was the right size. Finally he had a hexagon of roughly the correct width. Maybe a little big to fit comfortably in his hand, but too big was better than too small. He had learned this when his last blocky handle had gotten sanded down and wound up too small for his grip.

He picked up the handsaw. He had a light gash on the skin between his thumb and pointer finger, a consequence of not knowing how to hold the thing in order to saw it in half.

He needed to saw it in half, though, so he could affix the wire in the handle and glue the wood pieces back together. That was the plan, anyways. Tommy didn’t exactly know what he was doing.

He managed to cut it more or less perfectly down the middle, unlike the last few attempts where he had started up in the right place but ended up with the divide angling to break the wood into a pair of entirely uneven pieces. 

He hadn’t gotten this far before, and he realized that the wire was too thick to just stick in the center of the handle pieces and call it a day. 

Tommy looked to the fire pit and an idea sparked.

He heaved himself up and darted around to the cabin, leaving the door open and tracking snow all across the entryway. Phil yelled something at him that Tommy didn’t hear, so he waved it off and called back a “Workin’ on something!” and left it at that. 

He grabbed the flint and steel off the fireplace mantle, as well as a half-burned log from inside said fireplace. He threw it onto the outdoor burn pit, flung himself down at the edge of it, and frantically hit the flint against the steel until a flame sparked to life.

His hands blindly found the wire and he held the edge over the flame until the heat creeped far enough along the metal that Tommy could feel the warmth through his gloves. 

He fumbled backwards, grabbing the two halves of a whole handle and clamping them together so that the heated end of the wire was roughly rested in the middle. He held all the pieces together until he deemed it good enough, and when he pulled the wood apart there was a wire-sized indent burned in the middle.

A joyous laugh escaped Tommy, and he blew the few ashes off his handiwork. He relocated to work by the fire, sanding away at the hexagon until the edges were smooth and it was rounded like the end of a jump rope.

Tommy finished that just as the last of the embers flickered out. He abandoned Techno’s tools in the snow as he began rummaging through his things to find a wood adhesive.

In his ventures, he found a chisel. That went straight to the pocket of his coat to stay.

Eventually he did find the glue, and using his thumb to hold the wire in his place he began coating the center face of the handle in it. He pressed the pieces together.

Glue escaped from all sides, but that was okay. Better too much than too little, Tommy could just wipe it away. 

Turns out wiping the glue away was a bad idea, and he found himself in the bathroom running hot water over his right hand while Phil and Techno got to enjoy lunch together. His fingers were stuck together, but that was okay. It was worth it, he had a new and unique weapon of his own now.

One final sanding to get rid of the tacky seam, and Tommy was sat with the garrotte handle in one hand and a chisel in the other. This was his, he had to make it his.

He skipped the rest of lunch to carve a messy ‘T’ into the handle, angled discs carved into either side of the letter. The discs had more care put into their detail than his own initial.

He found a wood varnish and finished off the handle hours later. The chisel was the only one of Techno’s tools that found its way back to its place.

* * *

“No, you’re doing it wrong. You have to stop focusing on trying to make the wire wrap, it’ll do that itself.”

Tommy growled. Techno had weighted the other end of the wire for him after discovering a great many of his tools missing. Techno said Tommy would be able to use it better if it was like a set of bolas, and Tommy didn’t know what that meant so he didn’t argue.

He dragged the wire back to him through the snow, holding the handle in one hand. His other hand was a little further down the length of the weapon, grasping it so he could pull it back and spin it over his head to throw.

Technoblade had shown Tommy a wooden post hammered into the earth, intended to be used as a hitching post for a horse that did not yet exist. Tommy had been given permission to throw his death-strangulation-snake at it, though, so now it was criss-crossed with little indents from attacks that did not quite land.

Techno was smart enough to stay far, far away and watch over the edge of the stolen mug he was sipping from. The snow had plenty of indents where the wire had missed the post entirely and lashed the ground instead.

The air whirred as Tommy held up his throwing arm, spinning the wire above his head with a slightly practiced rotation of his wrist. He released his hand at the correct moment this time, and did not incorrectly flick the garrotte. The side of the wire slammed sideways into the post, the momentum of the weight at the end keeping the weapon moving. It spun, the edge coiling to wrap around the post. Tommy pulled, the wire tightened, and wood groaned and splintered as the pressure increased.

“Good job,” Techno praised, and though it was said monotonously, Tommy grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the longest chapter so far (about twice as long as usual) and it’s because of tommy’s arts and crafts
> 
> i read every comment, and they really motivate me to keep writing!! so please, even if its just an excerpt from your favorite part or your thoughts, let me know!! i love to read what you guys think :D
> 
> there’s also a playlist for this fic now on spotify if anyone’s interested


	8. Teenage Dirtbag

Tommy hadn’t tried to run off after the first incident, so he was allowed to tag along on more ventures even on his off-days.

Philza was not the type to take Tommy’s door to keep an eye on him or to lock him up in the house. Techno just hovered nearby whenever Tommy went out after yelling, giving him space while still making sure he wouldn’t snap and go back to Dream.

There were no more true escape attempts, and the bruising evidence of that first time was even starting to fade. So even after Tommy had just tore into Philza for looking at him funny- he was still boiling with upset at his father following the reminder of Wilbur’s death- he was allowed to accompany Techno with no questioning down the mountainside and through the Taiga. It was a hunting trip, one that felt more honest as it entailed bows instead of traps.

“Do you see anything?” Techno asked, and Tommy frowned.

“I see buck rubs.”

“Those are old. It’s not even the season for those yet, and the bark’s not fresh. Try again.”

Tommy stopped and dropped his gaze from the tree trunks to the ground. It was frozen, unfortunately, so there wouldn’t be as much of a trail left as there would have been if the ground was spring mud. There was patches of snow that had made it to the ground past the trees, though, and in places it was flattened and pushed where animals had snuffled and walked through.

“Oh. There.”

“Look at you go.” Techno answered, despite sounding plenty bored that it had taken Tommy so long. Still, he straightened back up and motioned for the younger boy to lead.

Tommy did. It must have been painfully slow for the more experienced hunter, but they were on the prowl so nothing could be said regarding it. Speaking would scare off anything worth eating.

So they ventured on in silence, a year’s worth of practice keeping Tommy shushed up. 

Finally they came to the edge of a glade. On the opposite end of it, two does grazed.

Techno looked down at Tommy and grabbed his wrist- the one holding the bow. When it was lifted, Tommy took the hint and notched the arrow. 

He focused on the nearest one and pulled the string back. He had to lock his arm to get the string back all the way, and when he released it snapped back and painfully struck his elbow.

The arrow whizzed past the does. Both animals looked up, alarmed, before starting to bound to the safety of the trees with tails raised. Their pause gave Techno enough time to swiftly and easily ready his own arrow and shoot down one with clean precision before it could escape.

Techno slid his bow back into its place as Tommy rubbed the forming bruise. 

“Don’t pop your arm like that,” He instructed, and Tommy nodded. The boar-hybrid went to retrieve the doe while Tommy looked on and worried his bottom lip between his teeth.

* * *

He was made to help carry the catch while they were going up the mountain. Tommy, a vertical incline, and half of a ninety-pound animal did not fare well together, and often his foot found ice instead of rock and he would slip. Every time this happened they were set back a couple feet, and Tommy would internally curse at himself.

Techno was silent, which only made Tommy feel worse. He was blind to his older brother’s comfort and passiveness at the situation and instead clenched his fists to keep away the tremor of his hands.

When they finally made it back to the cabin, Philza was waiting.

“Good job, boys!” He crowed, but Tommy just jumped and went around to the back of his house to practice with his garrotte instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last chapter wasn’t showing up in search results for me so hopefully this one does better :’O
> 
> a shorter one for now!


	9. Monster Dog

While the day before was subtly terrible, the next began worse. Tommy awoke before the sun with a pang in his chest that he couldn’t chase away, and after finding a book and quill he left a halfhearted note to his family. 

_ ‘b back tonite prolly but if not pinkie promise i  will b back eventually’ _

He dropped the quill on that page and left it there as a bookmark. He grabbed Wilbur’s coat, secured his bandanna around his neck, and set off after leaving the book on the table where it’d certainly be found.

Ink-stained fingers found a home in deep pockets as Tommy trudged through the snow to the dock. He prayed he knew the right way as he took the oars into his hands and began to row.

The cold stung his cheeks and burned only until he was out of view from home base. The air warmed as the sun rose and he got farther from the unforgiving climate he had begun to carve a third new life in.

He did, apparently, remember the way, evidenced by his boat striking the rocks Tommy had jumped off of last time he crossed the ocean. 

He couldn’t risk leaving evidence that he was here, for obvious reasons, so the boat found a place with the rest of his things and he set out across the beach.

A table, now dilapidated and rotten, lay empty and abandoned. Tommy walked straight past it and ignored the brown drops staining the grass as he transitioned from beach to plains to forest.

He was a whisper among the trees, a ghost visiting a past life.

Faint crunching reached his ears, footsteps sounding clear to a hunter’s ears over the wet and rotting leaf litter. Tommy ducked behind a tree and fumbled to draw his axe. His newest weapon was not yet ingrained in his mind as something he was armed with, so it hung coiled and forgotten on his hip for another day.

Bright green and red eyes turned curiously towards him, and Tommy blanked.

_ Ranboo?! _

He hadn’t realized he had said it aloud until large, elvish ears pricked upwards and a massive pillar of lank happily sprung towards him. “Tommy!”

Tommy emitted a disbelieving laugh as Ranboo tumbled into him like a puppy unaware of its own size, tousling his hair. “Where you been, man! Your face is on every wanted poster gracing the boards!”

That was an accomplishment, considering his rival was Technoblade, and Tommy grinned and puffed up proudly. “Oh, you know. Around.”

Suddenly Ranboo looked a little less happy, even though he was still smiling. “Man, I’ve missed you. It’s like you vanished into thin air.”

“I’m still gone,” Tommy answered cryptically, swiping his hand over the air past his face.

“Of course, of course.” Ranboo nodded seriously. “You didn’t see me a year ago, I didn’t see you today.”

Tommy smiled, real and genuine. His loyalty had finally reaped some reward after so long. 

He processed Ranboo’s gaze turning analytical and stepped back, unconsciously straightening up and pulling the most mature stance he could muster. Clearly it wasn’t the best, because Ranboo laughed, but that was okay because someone was laughing.

“Man, who knew how much a few weeks away from Dream could help you.” Ranboo wheezed, palming at his eye with one hand.

Tommy looked down at himself, the gears turning, and finally processed how right his friend was. His cheeks were dusted a healthy pink and the new steady flow of meals and physical labor had resulted in him filling out Wilbur’s coat much better than before. He was no longer wearing that tattered red and white shirt beneath it, instead a white sweater finished by Philza for him some nights ago taking its place. The sleeves of the trench coat were still too long, yes, but the rolling of the ends had fixed that problem. The bandanna was tied nicely like a neckerchief moreso than a bandanna, highlighting the more put-together aura Tommy had obtained.

His grin widened. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

* * *

Tommy had been given a photo of this year’s christmas tree, and it hurt less than last time. He smiled, thanked Ranboo, and they both wiped any memory of the last hour from their minds and went back their own ways.

Philza wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug when he returned home and got bit for it.

In the literal sense this time too. Tommy’s arms were pinned to his sides, his legs were off the ground, so now all he could do was bite.

Philza dropped him at that with a pained yelp, and Tommy bared his teeth in a furious grin.

“Don’t touch me,” He snapped, because even though Ranboo had significantly lightened his mood, Philza’s touch still felt like burning electricity on his skin. 

Philza blinked, surprised, and nodded his agreement without another word. Tommy took that as a pardon and stalked off to his room.

For the first time, he willingly pinned something to the wall as decoration.

Right next to his bed, the photo found its home. It wasn’t much- really, exactly one picture that Tommy was already prepared to lose did not count as  _ decorating _ , but it was one of the two things that Tommy was comfortable enough to call his own without feeling the need to hide it away in his enderchest any time it wasn’t on his person.

It was tiny, but it was a start. Tommy was laying on his back in the bed when Techno came to linger in the doorway until he got acknowledged.

“What do you want.” Tommy said flatly. 

“Just to talk.” Techno shrugged, and Tommy turned his head to the side to look. Sure enough he had nothing on him, not even the blue and white cloak he so often wore to keep warm.

“Mm, go on.”

Nonchalantly, Techno shifted his weight to lean against the doorframe. “Philza’s acting a little different. Not in a bad way, but I think since you ran off and kept your word to come back he’s wanting to show you a little more trust. Man-to-man, I believe you’ll be coming along more to go out with us. You know, if you want.”

Tommy barely even noticed when Techno and Philza left their own lands versus just went to the other end of it, but he nodded anyway. He would never complain about the newfound freedom, especially following his fistfight with the old pine.

The conversation ended there. Techno left Tommy to lay around and stare at his lone picture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes ranboo has been visiting every day since dream got stabbed to try and find tommy to give him a gift
> 
> anyways
> 
> tomorrow


	10. Measure Up; Breaking Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for manipulation and violence this chapter, stay safe!

It was not long before Tommy was in the boat again, oblivious to his family’s avoidance of the nether as a means of travel. 

Philza had his nose buried in a map while Tommy was handed the chore of actually rowing the boat. His arms strained with the effort, his destination this time being further than Logstedshire. The fact that he was rowing for two this time didn’t help either.

Tommy didn’t complain despite the itching compulsion to. It would be all too easy for Philza to just knock him over the edge of the boat and not look back.

Tommy made it to shore without his family trying to kill him, though, so he was fairly self-satisfied. He offered no warning before the boat hit the shore and the impact thrusted Philza forward, a minor lack of action on Tommy’s part spurred by the need for quiet revenge. Tommy brushed his hands off and got out of the boat, abandoning his still-recouping father.

They were outside the Dream SMP, outside the Badlands, out and away from everything. It allowed them to still be on the mainland without putting themselves at risk.

Tommy had every intention of staying away from L’Manburg while Phil and Techno did whatever it was that Phil and Techno did. Nowadays being near too many people made him nervous. He preferred lurking around the safety of the sidelines, out of the way so no one had any reason to berate him.

Alone was safe. If L’Manburg had ever cared about Tommy, they had long since stopped.

Still, he looked. It had been so long since he had just looked.

Tommy was twisted up among the uppermost branches of the tallest oak he could find, looking out as the sun descended over L’Manburg. From here, he could only see faint silhouettes of the tallest buildings, but it was enough.

He stared, locked in an entranced fervor, until a wooden _‘twang’_ pattered out and the branch he was on began shaking wildly. Tommy, in his panic, swung to the branch below for more stability and clung to the trunk.

“I’ve found you, Tommy!” A voice happily called out, and despite the warmth of his sweater he was suddenly chilled to the bone.

Tommy chanced a glance upwards. An arrow was embedded in the bottom of the branch Tommy had just been on.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Tommy, I just want to talk. Come back to me.”

And _hell_ , if Dream didn’t sound genuine. Tommy looked down at him and could hear the smile in his voice.

“Come down.” Dream coaxed again. Tommy started to lower a leg before he realized what Dream was doing.

“I’m not coming back to you,” He whispered, and some outside force must have interfered for his voice to carry far enough for Dream to hear.

He was scared.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Tommy, I want you alive more than anyone else in this world does.”

“That’s not true. Techno, and Philza, and Tubbo-“

“Techno doesn’t care about anyone or anything, Tommy. He’s out for himself. And Philza’s left you alone all these years, you really think he cares now? After he killed his own son, the second of only two prodigies?”

It _hurt_ , being reminded that he didn’t measure up to his brothers. Dream was picking right at the doubts that had been needling at his mind for nearly a month now and he knew it. Tommy worried his lip between his teeth and looked over his shoulder at L’Manburg.

“Come home, Tommy.”

“Logstedshire isn’t my home.”

“But L’Manburg is. Don’t you want back home?”

Tommy paused. The L’Manburg he wanted was a year gone.

“That isn’t my home.”

“I care about you, Tommy. No one else does.”

“Tubbo does.”

“Tubbo?” Dream asked, and he barked a laugh that made Tommy flinch just as easily as if Dream had raised a hand against him. “Tubbo doesn’t care. He burned his compass after what you did.”

Tommy’s veins ran with ice. He looked down at Dream again.

“I’m your only friend, Tommy. I want what’s best for you.”

Tommy’s hands curled around the branch he was on. Slowly, he began lowering himself down. Dream smiled.

On the last branch, Tommy stopped. He was crouched on that final limb, now only a head or so above Dream. Patiently, the other waited.

Tommy braced himself on the branch, ready to jump down.

His hands did not leave the branch when his legs kicked out behind him, catching him before he hit the ground so that his feet swung forward and struck Dream in that stupid mask of his.


	11. Run, Boy, Run

Tommy hit the ground running.

Blood roared in his ears as he bolted through the forest, kicking up leaf litter and grit with every shooting stride he took. He was a pale flash between the trees, there one second and gone the next.

The trees whispered to him. Though Tommy had been shown at a young age that nature could communicate, he had never listened until it became the only voice that would speak to him. Now, he heard what was said with clarity.

One of Tommy’s legs shot out sideways, throwing him in a sharp left turn as he heard Dream start to take off after him. 

The wind in the trees could lead him home. Tommy could see the fine divets left in the brush by the hares and the deer, and he followed.

The foliage grew more dense. Despite the thorns and branches whipping and scraping him as he shot past, Tommy had the upper hand. The briars, branches, and brambles were difficult to navigate; still, like a true creature of the forest, he expertly fled into the unforgiving underbrush.

Where he was a whisper, Dream was an explosion.

He could tell exactly where his hunter was by the crashing and cracking of branches behind him. Distance closed was quickly increased again between them as Dream struggled to keep up in such condensed wilderness. 

The worst part of the whole ordeal was that he regretted it, too, even though he knew that he shouldn’t. He craved touch and the feeling of Dream’s arms around him had been his best- only comfort for so, so long. 

Tommy broke out into a fallow and paused at its edge, panting. He nearly stayed put for Dream to find until a sickening threat reached his ears and he was brought back to himself.

The rabbit run that Tommy had been following disappeared beneath tall wildgrass, so after one final thanks to the forest he was on the run again. 

Chancing a glance behind him, Tommy saw Dream. Blood painted the face behind the mask red following the relentless barrage of thorns.

No longer being slowed by the wilderness, Dream started gaining again. He was taller, stronger, faster, but Tommy held the relentless cunning of a cornered wild animal and he could only pray that was enough.

This area was more familiar to him than the forest, blocks of fields all of varying levels of abandon. He had fled here as a child to spend hours away from the hellish drag of domestic life.

That’s why he knew just where the drop-off was despite it blending in so well with the area around it. Tommy did not stop as his feet flew over the edge of a short, slanted cliff- just bent his knees so that he could find balance when he landed.

There was the sound of rock scraping against rock as he struck the angle of the stone cliff, managing to slide down it without falling forward and smashing his face into a billion little pieces. Dream was not prepared or lucky enough to catch a ride the same way that Tommy had and was only spared a similarly brutal fate by catching himself with his hands.

The drop was only a few feet, but it was enough that the impact sent a sharp spike of pain upwards into Tommy’s ankles. He only had milliseconds to spare, however, so he kept running.

Dream would kill him. Dream would actually kill him, and Tommy didn’t want to die.

(Even if he did, he didn’t want to give Dream the satisfaction of being the one who committed the act.)

Tommy had two options. He could double back to the forest, lead Dream on a wild goose chase until one of them ran out of stamina. Back in the forest, no one would be able to find him to save him. He was just too far away. _Or_ he could throw his trust out there for the first person he saw, leaving it up to them to either catch or drop. 

What a repulsive thought. Tommy suddenly had no options.

Dream’s breath was hot on the back of his neck. Tommy changed his mind. Once again, he had two options.

He couldn’t run forever. Dream was too close to him.

In an attempt to buy himself a little extra time, Tommy took yet another sharp turn that he knew Dream couldn’t keep up with. They were on the fields just outside of L’Manburg. Tommy could make it to the safety of the herd if he could just hold out a little longer.

The fields ended, the fences came. Tommy jumped them. 

The streets of L’Manburg had been relatively empty, leading Tommy to the assumption that there must have been a meeting or something going on at the town hall on the opposite end of the city- which suited him just fine. The less government officials there were present to witness the chase between a god and an exiled, dead man, the better. 

He heard shouting on one side of him as he exploded down the wooden boards of the shopping district’s paths. He passed a barrel at the corner of an alleyway entrance containing a handful of fishing rods. 

As he changed directions to flee down the back alley, he grabbed the end of the rods only to let go as he passed. They snapped backwards and the resounding yelp told Tommy that he had hit his target.

He was nearing the pier. Wooden crates and barrels were stacked up along the side of the dock buildings, and Tommy did what he did best. He climbed, squirreling up the unconventional path to the rooftops. 

He was on borrowed time, running out of breath, and had yet to find a savior. Dream did not climb the crates; he just jumped, hands catching the edge of the roof, and hauled himself up. Panic made its home in Tommy’s bones.

He couldn’t give up yet, even as he leapt the gap between buildings. Stone clattered to the ground. There wasn’t much more space to run, the buildings falling off into a vast expanse of ocean.

“Tommy!”

It came from below.

He hit the edge of the last building and jumped.

* * *

Tommy had been hot before. Suddenly, with ice water flooding him on all sides, he felt very, very cold.

He didn’t know which way was skywards, could only blindly kick and claw vaguely towards the dim evening light until a hand grabbed his collar and hauled him up. Tommy gasped, then Tommy screamed, and finally he swung a wild punch at whoever had captured him.

His fist struck pure muscle and Tommy screamed again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you thought tubbo was going to save him you thought WRONG
> 
> (unless you interpret tubbo teaching tommy to give back to nature as saving him. because in a way, it did)


	12. A Skip, Jump, and a Limp

It was only after he was flung down into the bottom of a boat that he registered that instead of just skin, the face was clad in a layer of wiry fur.

Tommy settled enough to look up and out towards the docks just in time to see massive gray wings beat, launching the person-  _ Philza- _ upwards from where he had been standing on the pier. That cut off Tommy’s view from the rooftops, and presumably Dream from the ocean. 

Shaking his soaked hair splattered water in all directions. When he turned to the boar shifter in the boat with him, he laughed incredulously.

_ He had made it. _

“Suck it, Dream!” He shouted, gripping the edge of the boat and leaning forward with wild laughter. Though he was not large enough to counter Techno’s weight and tip the boat, the side still fell enough beneath him so that the tips of his fingers touched water briefly. He did not care.

“Quit rocking the boat,” Techno growled, and quickly Tommy complied. 

Only after throwing one last raspberry over his shoulder to the green figure fighting madly to escape the furiously beating wings.

Tommy sunk down in the boat, heaving and panting as he tried to process everything that had happened. Now that the adrenaline was starting to ebb away, a pounding headache was beginning to take its place. And his ankles hurt. Many things hurt, now that he thought of it.

Maybe he should worry about Phil. One look at Techno gazing out across the ocean, a malicious sneer darkening his feature, and that thought was reconsidered.

Tommy pressed his palm to his head and shut his eyes, desperately grabbing for any semblance of peace that might find him. All at once, the crave for silence and nothingness overcome him. Techno spoke and Tommy did not hear.

The boat rocked again as Philza landed. Tommy hadn’t noticed him taking off to follow, but now there were three people crammed onto one boat and the touch of someone pressed up against him burned. Tommy growled and tried to kick but his wet shoes only slipped and scrabbled uselessly against slick wood.

Tommy’s whole world was cast in shadow as Philza spread his wings before taking off again to ride the current of the breeze over the boat. He finally had enough room to breathe and yet remained crowded up in the corner.

The coast back home blurred together with everything else. His breathing was hard and labored the whole time, unable to get enough air in his lungs, as his scrapes burned and feet ached. When they finally docked, Tommy could have let himself fall face first into the snow had he trusted himself to get up again.

He didn’t, though, so he ended up on the couch near the hearth of the fire while Philza poked and prodded at him.

“You sprained your ankle,” Philza informed him, and Tommy couldn’t have imagined a more unhelpful diagnosis. He’d known that would happen the moment he jumped off a small bluff.

“Okay,” Tommy murmured instead of nitpicking his father less than half an hour after being saved by him.

“Just the one. Do you lead with your right?”

_ Actually, I didn’t trip, if that’s what you’re thinking. I jumped off a cliff. It’s okay, though, the rock was slanted down at an angle so I just surfed down instead of dying. Aren’t I smart, Dad? _

“Yeah.”

“Hm.” Phil emitted a curious little tut as he peeled off Tommy’s sock and lifted his leg so he could get to wrapping the offending ankle for him. “Wilbur was right-handed, too.”

“Most people are, D..il.”

“Dil?”

“I said Phil.”

The conversation ended there. Not that Tommy had been providing much in the way of communication anyways, but it had taken Philza longer to get the hint than Tommy cared to play along with.

Once Phil moved away, Tommy stayed put with his feet propped up on the squat table before him and his arms folded over his chest. Head bowed and eyes closed, he just wanted to nap and pretend like nothing was real and he was existing in an eternal limbo of emptiness.

“I want to kill something.”

It was Techno that had spoken, and Tommy let out a very loud and drawn-out groan at the interruption.  _ He _ was the only one allowed to do shit like that, what did Techno think he was doing?

“Maybe don’t do that,” Philza hummed airily. Tommy’s world, no longer blank and empty, was back to being annoying.

He rolled to his side and pushed himself up, having to hobble awkwardly until he got his balance enough to walk again. Techno swung his broad head around to look at him.

The consequences of Tommy’s escape attempt became much more painful as he went to putting a normal amount of weight on his bad leg to hide the slight limp.

“Don’t you want to kill something?”

“Burn something, maybe. Griefing’s more fun than murder.” Tommy brushed the wall with a hand as he started to slink down the hall, being as nonchalant as possible so that it didn’t look like he was bracing himself.

“It’s settled! Once Tommy’s rested up, we can all go out again together!” Tommy could hear the happy way Phil clapped his hands together even from the other room. He slammed his bedroom door shut so he could drown out the sounds of family bonding with Mellohi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy this little reprieve while you can! it gets worse
> 
> you know how so much shit went down on the streams december 16th? chapter sixteen is also brutal
> 
> anyways! would anyone be interested in childhood drabbles? things like tubbo and tommy’s field, some worldbuilding stuff that doesn’t fit in here


	13. Chaos Child

Tommy was woken the next morning by someone knocking at his bedroom door.

The rise from unconsciousness was unwelcome. It being the day after such a long chase meant Tommy’s muscles burned with soreness. He rolled over, shoved his pillow over his head, and tried to go back to sleep.

At the second set of knocks, Tommy begrudgingly slid out of bed and shuffled to the door. He pushed it open and was greeted with the stupid face of his smiling sunshine father presumably only hours after the sun began its ascent.

“Hello!” Phil greeted. Tommy shut the door in his face.

He sulked across the room to throw himself back into bed. Unfortunately, Phil had to _think_ about what to say next- which meant when he knocked again, Tommy was already back in bed.

Unwilling to get up once more on a bad ankle, he did not get up a second time. He just barked a short “What”.

“I have something for you!”

Philza sounded plenty happy, both for someone up early in the morning and for someone who had just gotten the door slammed in his face. That might’ve motivated Tommy a little; as did the promise of new things.

“Go on.”

The door cracked open and Philza’s face appeared pressed against the frame. “Can I come in?”

“If you come bearing gifts, I fuckin’ guess.”

Tommy was in one of his old, baggy shirts despite the ambient chill of any room that did not have a fire in or near it. His white sweater, which had fared pretty well for quite a while, had finally met its end after the little wisps of wool had been torn apart by the briars and underbrush of the impenetrable forest outside of New L’Manburg. Maybe that was why he was surprised when Philza presented an outfit mirroring his and Techno’s own.

“It took me a while- sorry about that, Toms. If you don’t want it, that’s fine, but I figured that since your current clothes are getting pretty ratty-“

“Like hell I’m turning down a cape!” Tommy burst, having suddenly forgotten his earlier standoffishness. He scrambled to his feet, took the clothes, and ushered Philza back out of his room.

* * *

Tommy found himself poking around the living area as lunch came around. He was usually encouraged to come eat with them. Sometimes, Tommy loathed the thought and didn’t even consider it, but for the most part he amused his father and brother when they beckoned him.

His foot was feeling a lot better, too, at least until he started getting on it again. No matter. He could ignore it, he’d ignored plenty worse before.

He was a part of his family and their funny little outfit thing that they had going on. That was enough to keep his mood from dampering.

He was trying to see how many stupid pictures he could carve into the wooden arm of the couch before being noticed when Techno came in, all bloodied and holding a blade. Tommy, who by now was accustomed to his brother coming inside after skinning and gutting their dinner without cleanup, didn’t spare him a second glance before going back to trying to make his triangular blob look like a sheep.

“Quit drawing penises on my furniture!” A voice shouted from in the kitchen, and for once Tommy shouted back.

“It isn’t a penis! It’s a friend!”

The frame of the cabin shook as Techno deliberately added more weight to his footsteps to get them to shut up. It worked and the quarrel ended before it really even got the opportunity to start.

“I thought we’d be doing something more fun today than… whatever it is you two are doing.” Techno grumbled. Tommy could hear the sound of water begin, presumably (hopefully) signifying his brother starting to clean up.

“It’s not late yet, we still have time.”

Tommy listened in on the elder two beginning to make their plans, and a smile found his face. Ample opportunity to fuck with Dream.

* * *

Though he loved his new fur cloak, its pale coloring- a benefit here- would expose him immediately should anyone see him. Instead, he traded it for Wilbur’s, the dark brown leather pooling around his legs and boots to hide all the light colors of his bottom layers.

Technoblade and Philza were nearby, thankfully. Not near enough that Tommy wasn’t technically by himself, but definitely within earshot. They were causing problems of their own as Tommy weaved around behind buildings under the dim light of the claw moon.

He had a flint in one hand, a block of iron in the other. Finding the first wooden building (because he would not destroy nature) was slightly more difficult than he had accounted for. Not impossibly so, though, and before long he was on his knees behind a storage building striking the flint and steel together.

He had to nurse the flame at first. Fire might be destructive, but it was just as alive as the leaves and the breeze and him.

He had his hands cupped around the flame, coaxing it to a formidable height, and his silver eyes reflected red. He smiled.

* * *

Tommy strode away from the burning building just as easily as he had come, a shadow silhouetted against the hot glow of chaos that was behind him.

* * *

The row back home was peaceful, Tommy kicked back leisurely in his own boat. He had to row, but only for one, and it was okay. It felt easier than last time too, somehow.

Techno seemed to remember something and sat up, his strokes with the oar becoming deeper as he closed the distance between them both. Tommy looked over curiously at the pale pink creature when their boats became near enough to jolt together and make him sway with the impact. A flyer was pressed into his hands.

Tommy looked over it. It seemed a celebration of sorts, a winter solstice festival held in L’Manburg but open for any of the neighboring nations to attend. Tommy looked over at Techno curiously and found a mutinous cheshire grin that bared all teeth.

“I say we crash it.”

Tommy did not expect the decision to be left up to him, but the way Techno spoke and Philza was looking over at him from his boat made Tommy believe so. He waited a few seconds, just to be sure, then nodded.

A sneer made its way across his features. Now that he had managed to break through into L’Manburg once (...thrice), doing it again seemed much less scary. Especially if he got to cause problems with a family member on either flank this time.

They hit the bank just as the conversation shifted from war crimes to dinner. Tommy would rather die than sit down again after only just getting out of a boat, so after a warning and a wave he set off on a tromp through the woods.

Wilbur’s coat wasn’t as warm as the cloak, but it did the job even as the sun set. Tommy had long since found that darkness came much faster in the forest, especially on a mountain, which meant a drop in temperature and increased difficulty navigating. He had more or less figured out the deer runs and their weaving paths among the trees though and disregarded these things entirely.

The sting of cold on his cheeks was pleasant, a reminder that he was real and alive and not numb anymore. His breath billowed out before him, just a pale cloud against the dusk-darkened snow. Tommy didn’t know how long he walked before he heard a branch crack in the distance.

His gloved hand found the handle of his garrotte, fingers curling around the weapon looped and tied to his hip like a lasso. He waited.

The shadows shifted with the movement of a creature approaching, just far enough that the silhouette was faded and obscure enough to be unidentifiable. Tommy’s knees bent, an instinctive drop into a defensive stance.

Instead of an enemy, a massive elk stag emerged from the fog and shadow.

The animal was all leg, tall and kingly and bearing a rack of antlers that looked like they stretched high enough to touch the stars. It looked at Tommy, and despite holding still enough to dissolve into darkness, it saw.

 _He_ saw.

The elk emitted a shrieking bellow that struck Tommy to his core. He still didn’t move as it neared, striding through the snow.

It was close enough now for Tommy to look into its eyes and see the soul of an animal much more intelligent than it ought to have been, a sadness and glittering wisdom that wore down in a burden which should not be bestowed upon a creature of the forest. Those brown eyes met Tommy’s gray and he knew.

The animal was close enough to touch now, and it lowered its head so that the two were eye level now. Tommy raised his hand to rest on the elk’s nose and he smiled.

“Hello, Wilbur.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> elkbur is my hot take no i dont take constructive criticism 
> 
> (also as someone who has heard elk calls in person, tommy go get ur ears checked out those things strike ur soul and kill u dead)


	14. Youngest child; Forest Child

The warm, wet nose of a large animal pressed back against his hand. Tommy laughed before throwing his arms around the elk’s neck, and the broad head lowered further to tuck over Tommy’s shoulders.

“It’s been a while, old friend,” Tommy rumbled, gently pulling at ears and shaggy fur in a way that was so aggressively _younger brother_ of him. This was Wilbur, but it was also not, so Tommy couldn’t clamber up Wilbur’s torso and cling to him like he had as a child.

That was okay. Wilbur was here.

Of course, if Wilbur was here, it was probably to tell him something. As Tommy realized this, he leaned back and placed a hand on either side of the elk’s face. Wilbur looked at him, staring for a long moment, and then Tommy was getting insistently shoved forward by the nudging of a massive creature of the forest.

“Hey!” Tommy barked, offended, as he was nudged backwards. He caught himself before his foot was jostled too bad and glared daggers at this deer. “You know, I’ve grown to quite like venison, you could at least be nice to me.”

The animal paused, held for a long moment, then let out another rattling whistle of a cry that made Tommy’s ears ring.

“Okay, okay, I’m going!” He exclaimed, raising his hands and backing away. He only got a few feet before he paused, thought, then flung himself forward to hold onto Wilbur’s neck and press his face into brown fur.

“I miss you, Wil.”

* * *

Clearly Tommy’s walk had been shorter than he anticipated, because he got back in record time despite his pace being an ambling meander at best. 

“Glad you’re back soon, sounds like the animals are out tonight.” Philza greeted Tommy as he passed, and Tommy just grunted in acknowledgement and failed to provide any explanation. Every time Wilbur visited- only twice now, but he treasured both encounters- it felt intimate, special. Uniquely _his_. Tommy wouldn’t be caught dead sharing it now.

He stepped into his room, clicking the door shut behind him, and slid a disc into the slot of his jukebox. When he fell into his bed, he dreamed.

* * *

He woke up in the same dreamscape as last time somehow looking worse than before.

Tommy’s hands found the hem of his shirt and grabbed, holding out the torn fabric so he could look at it. The red was faded and covered in grime, the white was more of a worn taupe, and there was not a sliver of blue on him. His hands were wrapped in bandages that were falling off, and though he didn’t feel any more injured than he had the afternoon before, he could tell there were a litany of cuts beneath the cloth.

Tommy was unsurprised after meeting with Wilbur, but damn. He didn’t quite understand why this was happening.

Last time, Tommy had been able to feel every injury marring his ashen skin. He was very glad he could only feel the dull throb of a healing sprain in his ankle now; otherwise, he would probably just lay down and never get up again.

Maybe he should try to find his reflection and see what his face looked like. He wasn’t too concerned about it until he felt a tickle of warmth against his cheek.

Tommy rubbed at his face with the back of his hand, and the wraps came back crimson.

Hm.

Well, he wasn’t hurting, so he couldn’t complain. When the consideration of death crossed his mind, Tommy felt his cool cheeks grow warm like someone was touching him. No one was there- he could only assume it was his brother’s absent way of reminding him it was a dream.

Tommy had heard about lucid dreams, but that first time he hadn’t thought to try and experiment with it, so he set out on a minor quest to, a) find what Wilbur wanted him for, and b) see if he could do any cool magic shit. Not the magic shit he could do in the real world- a skill he had violently repressed as soon as he’d found it- but something _cool_. Like fly.

Tommy was stomping aside underbrush as he went, finding the base of bushes with his heel and pressing down to create a path. Wherever he was, it was clear there were no wild animals living here to do it for him. He’d learned how to tell when a wood was lived in.

He emerged over the crest of a hill as the moon was just beginning to rise. Not just any hill, but _his_ hill, a wooden path crossing the space between Tommy and a bench overlooking the night sky.

He approached just as he had last time, ready to reach out and grab the back of the bench. His hand phased through the object and he canted forward to collapse in a heap on the ground.

When he looked up, a horrified Tubbo was looking down at him with hands raised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is now a second fic posted for me to post drabbles from this series on! check it out 👀 
> 
> hope this chapter clears a few things up even if there’s not really an explicit explanation! as always, ur guys’ comments give me life and i love u all mwah


	15. Moonlight Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it’s happened enough for me to tell u guys that whenever there’s a dream chapter, a tubbo chapter is tied to it so here u go mwah

Tubbo’s compass had gotten melted and cracked to the point of malfunction by the heat of a creeper attack and had only recently been fixed after he waved a fistful of diamonds at Sam.

Ever since he’d gotten it back, though, the needle moved much more often than it used to. It was odd. It had been pointing rigidly in one direction for so long and now it never seemed to stop moving.

Tubbo had brushed it off as Tommy moving in circles to avoid the wrath of a recently skewered Dream and left it at that. At night the needle seemed to drift back to the same general area, presumably Tommy settling down in Logstedshire for the night.

After Sapnap had burned down Fundy’s food stores (which was honestly just a home for mice at this point), tensions had spiked. It had been steadily growing for ages due to a reason nobody seemed to be able to pinpoint, but now that everyone had something to blame it got worse. Tubbo was trying desperately to pull together a festival to put an end to this.

(It didn’t matter how he was going about it. Only a few of them knew, like Quackity and Fundy and Ranboo.)

The night of that flame had been the last straw before Tubbo was sent marching off to Logstedshire. His compass was still going haywire, so he just pocketed it and marched along the path.

He arrived at Tommy’s village and was greeted with craters. 

Tubbo’s jaw went slack as he traced around the edge. He only screamed once, when his foot struck a little too close to the edge of a hole and the dirt beneath him slid down to settle over the stone at the bottom.

Tommy had to have done this. The only one cruel enough to prank an exiled man was- was Fundy, and that wasn’t out of malice. The worst the fox shifter’s taunts had ever gotten was replacing Tommy’s things with granite, a joke that Tommy never got to see before his exile. 

Tubbo looked up from his feet when his body hit something. He was greeted by a pillar that stretched endlessly into the air.

Curse his vivid imagination and the image of his best friend perched at the top with his feet hanging over the edge.

“Surely not.” Tubbo murmured, but there was an unmistakable tremor of fear in his voice as he backed off towards the nether portal. “Surely, surely not.”

Tommy’s words came back to haunt him.

_You need to tell him no, Tubbo._

Tubbo was planning on telling Dream no, he was, he just needed more _time_. Time that he hadn’t been allocated, clearly.

Tubbo rounded on his heels and took off back towards the portal.

* * *

Tubbo woke up to the needle of his compass pointing incessantly into the depths of L’Manburg.

This was odd, in and of itself. 

He’d shut himself up in his room and cried, tried to convince himself that the red needle spinning was because Tommy was drifting and not because the compass was failing to find its tie. It was chillingly like in the nether, when the simple machinery could not account for a shift in dimensions.

You know, until now. When he looked at the metal piece he’d fallen asleep with in his hand and found it pointing in a direction it shouldn’t be.

Tubbo cracked open the door to the building he’d been holed up in and looked out across his country. The moonlight painted his tear tracks silver.

Tubbo set out on a trek down the Prime Path, eyes trained on the compass in hand. He didn’t notice where he was until the needle suddenly swung right and he lifted his gaze.

Legs were splayed out on the ground, their owner on their stomach in the grass and half-phased through Tommy’s bench.

His eyes got wide and round, his jaw went slack as he started backing away. A face twisted around to look at him and Tubbo froze, a scream dying in his throat.

Tommy’s ghoulish eyes were looking up at him.

Tommy was predictably blind to Tubbo’s horror. There was a flame in Tubbo’s chest whose billowing black smoke rose to choke him and cloud his thoughts. He did not say a word when Tommy pushed himself up and brushed himself off, only squeaked miserably.

Tommy bit his lip, clearly focusing on something, and when he touched the bench he had solidified enough for it not to phase through this time. Tubbo’s internal monologue was a barely comprehensible mantra of ‘ _runrunrun’_ , but when Tommy patted the space next to him he sat down anyways.

This was worse than last time. Despite this, Tommy was nonchalant as ever, legs splayed out in the grass before him while he picked at his fingers. Tubbo stared.

“Lookin’ at the blood?” Tommy asked, and Tubbo’s gaze snapped to the cut on Tommy’s face. He hadn’t removed his gaze from the other boy’s eyes, but now that he had, he felt nauseous.

Tommy’s fingers found the cut and wiped, holding up his hand where the knuckles were now painted with darkness. This was not how Tubbo wanted it to go.

“Blood looks almost black in the moonlight,” Tommy mused, and it took everything Tubbo had in him not to scream.

“How can you- how can you be so unphased by this?!” He near shouted, fingers curling over the edge of the bench with a white-knuckled grip. Stupid Tommy and his stupid impulses and his stupid inability to tell when things were serious-

“It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt.”

Tubbo felt a weight off his shoulders that he hadn’t realized was there, and he sighed. His hands found his face and clutched there.

“Oh, Tommy,” He whined, and was only greeted with a gap-toothed grin. “What did you do?”

“Well, for starters, I stabbed Dream,” Tommy began counting off on his fingers. The words started blurring together in a distant buzz in the back of Tubbo’s mind. 

This Tommy felt more real than last time, despite everything, and he was convinced his mind was playing a cruel trick on him.

“Dream wants you painted as a villain.” Tubbo said, voice barely above a whisper, and looked back at the ghost of his best friend. Tommy’s expression went blank, and then split into a grin.

“Oh, Tubbo, I’ll always be the villain in someone else’s story. I’m too much for anything else.”

“Your lack of compliance never fixed anything!” Tubbo snapped, and when Tommy flinched, the guilt he felt next was overpowering. “I’m sorry, Tommy, I don’t- I’m sorry.” Tubbo’s head was back in his hands. “Dream’s back in control again and I don’t know what to do.”

“Dream was never out of control,” Tommy pointed out, and Tubbo swallowed. “Tell you what.”

Tommy’s grin returned, this time wicked. “I’ll be around this weekend, and I am a wonderful ball of sunshine.”

Tommy was a _terrible_ ball of sunshine. Tubbo gulped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tubbo thinks tommy’s dead and tommy’s too much of a dumbass to realize asmr
> 
> (for clarification: in this au, dream built the pillar to try and see if tommy came back and was hangin around logstedshire)
> 
> on a final note, anyone who’s interested in learning about the “magic shit” referenced by tommy last chapter should totally check out the other work in the series


	16. Celebration Nation

Tubbo had been antsy all weekend.

His cabinet had a silent agreement to blame it on what they intended to deliver at the festival, but Tubbo cared little about that. What really bothered him was what Tommy had said.

He told no one of his friend’s promise. If he did, they might tighten the borders. Kill Tommy. Tubbo didn’t think that ghosts could die, but he was scared to find out if they could fade. He hadn’t seen Ghostbur in many months and had long since come to terms with the worst.

He hadn’t realized immediately that his interaction with Tommy was a dream, only assumed it was because he woke up in a cold sweat with no recollection of the walk back. 

Still- dream or no dream, Tommy had made him a promise, and Tommy rarely failed to keep those.

This weekend. That was when the festival was scheduled.

Hidden behind podium curtains and streamers was a cramped obsidian cell, waiting. Every time Tubbo passed it, he swore he could hear echoes of Tommy’s voice crying out to him.

* * *

Tubbo bore a wide, fake grin as he stood at the decorated entrance to L’Manburg welcoming people. 

And if he squeezed harder than necessary when he gripped Sapnap’s hand in a shake, well. That was between them.

Dream refused a handshake. When Tubbo gave him a confused look, the other raised his palms. The skin was red and peeling, a clearly fresh friction burn. Tubbo winced just looking at it and sent Dream on his way.

He took note of where Dream went- towards the podium, the opposite direction of the docks and their pop-up stands of cheap candy and lemonade- before he filed away to go find Fundy. 

Fundy should’ve been backstage, behind the curtains- but when Tubbo looked, it was empty. He checked closer anyways, footsteps echoing on the boards he was walking on.

Faintly, he heard scratching. Incessant scratching, like a rodent or a cat was trapped behind a wall and trying desperately to get out. 

Oh, dear.

With the intention of helping an animal- maybe something nice, like a bunny or a squirrel- Tubbo pulled back the wooden platform that hid the waiting obsidian cell from the rest of the backstage area. 

A fox was curled up on the ground, shaking and looking past Tubbo with wide, fearful eyes.

“Fundy?!” Tubbo shouted, and before his friend could make it back to his human (or mostly human) form, he was shoved into the cell on top of him. They were cut off from the light of the rest of the world as an obsidian block was placed and the wood slid back in place.

* * *

It took him an embarrassingly long time to figure out that the fox was not Fundy.

He spoke to the animal like it was a well and trusted cabinet member for a long time before he thought to ask why he wasn’t shifting back to human or at least bipedal form. The fox emitted that whirring chirp that was neither dog nor cat and Tubbo realized that this was an actual fox.

He dug through his pockets and only found scraps of snacks to offer the animal. It was enough, though, and when the fox trusted him Tubbo scooped him up in his arms and held him like a child seeking comfort from a stuffed toy.

“I’ll call you Squeaks,” He decided, and the fox squeaked.

With nothing else to do except wait to be found, Tubbo took off his tie and affixed it to the animal’s neck in place of a collar. The fox squeaked again and squirmed, tripping over the fabric pooling around his paws.

Tubbo solved this problem by tying it into a bow and went back to waiting.

(The waiting resumed only after managing to find a piece of leather to write Squeaks’ name on- and he didn’t know how to spell it, so Squeaks became Squeeks- and tucking it in the knot of the bow tie.)

“Who did this to you? To us?” He asked, and Squeeks squeaked.

“No, I don’t think it was Tommy. This place is for Dream, Tommy wouldn’t do anything to stop Dream from going in a cage.”

Squeeks hiccupped this time and Tubbo held him closer, pressing his face into the dusty fur.

He didn’t admit it, but he was scared.

When he heard the sound of someone taking up the podium, Tubbo started to bang on the little bit of wood that was visible and yelled. 

Nobody came.

He paused, having to catch his breath, and in the break he heard who was speaking.

_Dream._

That was impossible. There was no way Dream could tell what they were doing, or what the festival was really for. No way. It’d been airtight.

Once again, Tubbo thought that he’d waited too long to tell Dream no. Only this time, instead of paying with his best friend’s life, he was about to pay with his own.

The tears returned with a vengeance and he started to bang on the wood again, desperate for any kind of out. The scars from his last festival burned and Tubbo screamed.

Finally, _finally_ , that wood got mined away. Dream stood with his back to Tubbo, who was trying desperately to escape from the too-small gap in the obsidian.

“-Thought he could take the world from my hands into his own. You know what happens when you try to rise against me!”

Tubbo suddenly flung himself against the back of the cage, breath hitching as Dream produced a dark axe that glittered in the sunlight. Half of the crowd was in a stunned silence; the other half cheered.

_Nonono not again-_

Suddenly Dream shoved the microphone away and leaned in close. Tubbo’s eyes widened as that mask turned away from the waiting people and towards him.

“Press that compass of yours into my hand, Tubbo, or there’ll be bad aim with the axe.”

Dream’s voice was a coarse whisper and Tubbo barely registered that he was screaming and crying again, fighting to get out of the inescapable cage. The compass weighed heavy in his pocket, but it was the last thing he had of Tommy. He couldn’t.

“No. No, Dream!”

Tubbo couldn’t see Dream’s expression past the mask, but he could imagine his expression as the axe raised and swung. It struck Tubbo shallowly in the shoulder through the gap where the wood had been, and when he heard a crack, he screamed.

“I’ll get it anyways, then!”


	17. Murder! Murder!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> death tw

“It gets easier and easier, dunnit? Soon I’ll move back, and I’ll be living here again like it’s nothin’.”

Tommy was not graced with much of a response as he rowed, just a grunt from Technoblade and a hard-to-interpret side-eye from Phil. Tommy pretended not to mind, just leaned back further in his little spruce boat and kicked his feet up. “Ah, yep. L’Manburg, we meet again.”

“You were just here the other day.” Techno answered flatly.

“Yeah, but I founded it! Every day away is, like, a day away from my child or somethin’.” A pause. “No, bad metaphor, you two are weird about that. It’s like another day away from my precious, precious turtle farm.”

Philza flinched. Techno quietly seethed. Tommy barreled on.

“I mean, I leave it dead alone for a year and suddenly I’m back and gettin’ involved again.”

“Shut up, Tommy.” Techno warned, coldly. Tommy was just beginning to test the waters again, so he chanced one more jab just to watch Phil squirm.

“I’m sure glad it’s a place and not a person. Boy, if I had to deal with the repercussions of my own actions-“

_ “Shut up, Tommy,” _ Techno snapped, more forcefully this time, and he deemed that a good place to draw the line and hushed up from there.

Tommy was the only one comfortable in the silence that dragged on even after they reached the shore. He was content with the only noise being that of a distant party and the scraping of their wooden boats pulling up over the rocks. By the time the trio reached the shore, night was setting and festival lanterns were high in the air. Tommy was happy, the dusk and colored lights bathing him in a comfortable glow.

_ L’Manburg heist! L’Manburg heist! _

From there, their little family split up. They stayed near enough that each other’s shouting would be heard should Tommy get wrapped up in yet another near-death experience, and yet far enough that he was undoubtedly alone.

Thankfully everyone outside of their little blood posse was too busy at the celebration to be hanging around guarding their chests. He had no clue how many houses he’d hit, but by the time their rounds had circled back and returned to the beach just outside where most of the celebration was, Tommy’s inventory was near full.

Maybe an hour had passed before they met up again, Techno and Philza already waiting for him in the thin grove they’d agreed to reconvene at. Both men were more experienced and therefore faster than Tommy in the art of crime- not that he minded, or cared. They could stand to wait a few minutes for him to catch up.

They regrouped and from there Philza led them through the forest, the group akin to a pack of wolves as they stalked off towards the edge of the treeline with the intention of finding a good spot to sit and watch the announcements.

It didn’t take long before they came across a short stretch of dilapidated fencing overlooking the festivities. The place was hidden enough that they wouldn’t be noticed, while elevated and just open enough that there was a clear view of the podium. Tommy settled on top of the fence with his back against a tree as he twisted sideways to watch.

When he expected a boy to take up the stage, Tommy saw a figure clad in green.

Dream was there, rigidly tall and strong as he grabbed the microphone in his hands. Judging by the reactions of the L’Manburgian portion of the audience, this was not planned.

Tommy didn’t realize he was shaking until he felt a grounding weight on his shoulder, the steadying presence of a hand there to support him. Tommy glanced up at Philza, stared for a few seconds, and then ripped his gaze back to Dream.

He missed the murderous look Techno and Philza exchanged, only processing that they had communicated in that silent way of theirs when they slipped off to flank the stage.

“Clearly, it seems the revolutionary spirits of L’Manburg have not been stifled. Still they step out of their place to choose who lives and who dies, and they clearly thought they could take the fate of the world out of my hands and into their own!”

A curtain was drawn, revealing a small, dark box, and the crowd cheering blended into the sound of blood roaring in Tommy’s ears. Dream didn’t like when people disobeyed. Maybe if L’Manburg was fast enough, they could dig a hole to drop their things into and Dream would forgive them. Dream was merciful like that. Kind.

Dream said something that Tommy could not hear, and then heard the squeaking and scrambling of a desperate man. Tommy knew that sound better than he knew anything.

“No. No, Dream!”

That was Tubbo. Tommy felt it in his soul, in his heart, and even if the timbre of his ex-best friend’s voice wasn’t eternally engraved into his mind he would’ve known. He scrambled to find the crossbow he’d stolen just moments before.

Tommy had tried to hold back, he really had. Lie in wait because being trigger-happy had never helped him once in all his years of living. But he heard a crack more terrible and sickening than anything he’d ever experienced before- even given his distance- and he drew the string.

Dream raised his axe once more to finish whatever mutilation he’d started. Tommy was faster to the draw.

Before the masked figure could swing a second time, Tommy released his arrow. It struck Dream in the back of his head and the figure collapsed forward, the blood and gore of a slaughter making its home on the glittering black of obsidian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beat his ass tommy i got yo flower


	18. Riot! Riot!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HI SOMEONE MADE FAMART PLEASE GO CHECK IT OUT AND SHOW EM SOME LOV E HABAHSBH  
> 
> 
> [HERE](https://twitter.com/phant0mdisc/status/1341106587453276165?s=21)

It was like someone had struck a match and tossed it in an oil slick.

The festival exploded the second that the arrow struck Dream in the back of the head and sent him lilting forward lifelessly. Unaware of the source, the festival polarized, people wildly taking sides and leaping at each other with an animalistic sort of bloodlust. Tubbo’s screams were drowned out by the roar of a sudden battle and he remained trapped in the box, forgotten.

Tommy’s hand found the fence and he leapt down, shooting off down the hill towards the commotion. Tubbo was vulnerable. Dream had been killed to save Tubbo, surely the president would be murdered for it if he stayed shut up in there. There was no way stabbing a child in a box could be much harder than shooting fish in a barrel.

“ _Tommy_?!” A voice roared. Once, it might’ve been familiar, but a year’s passing had erased the name of its owner from memory. Whoever had called out was quickly cut down by the bolt of an arrow.

It was not Tommy’s arrow, but he was not complaining.

The calling of his name brought awareness to his presence. One problem; The shock of _Tommy_ being there was a greater hindrance than it was a help. More than one person who should be on his side had frozen up to stare at him.

Tommy pointed the crossbow at them and suddenly that problem was solved. The fighting resumed.

He saw a short flash of black and white making a bolt for the stage, standing out clearly as someone fighting against the crowd pushing the opposite direction.

Tommy was faster.

He produced an enderpearl- stolen, just like most everything on him- and pulled his arm back in preparement for the force of a full-body throw. He launched the smooth object through the air and it shattered against the lamppost right in front of Sapnap.

Tommy was ready. He dropped from the air with his (also stolen) sword, raised, and sliced.

Sapnap emitted a startled choke of a shout, falling back just in time to avoid being cut in half by a very angry teenager. Tommy readied another swing and Sapnap parried, the sounds of their swords clashing being drowned out by all the rest of the fighting.

“What the _hell_ are you doing here? You’re supposed to be dead!” Sapnap roared. A sneer crossed Tommy’s wolfish face as he ducked to narrowly avoid a beheading. The momentum of the failed attack sent his opponent forward, off balance, and Tommy took the opening.

His leg struck out, his heel swiping Sapnap’s leg out from under him. When the other collapsed, Tommy pounced on him like a starved animal and poised his sword over a gap in his armor. “What are _you_ doing helping him? He doesn’t care about you!”

Sapnap paused. Tommy assumed he was looking for words and was consequently unprepared for the strike to his legs from the other’s knees kicking up.

Both men’s weapons clattered to the side in favor of a straight-out grappling match. Sapnap rolled Tommy over and fought to pin the boy, and though he was stronger, Tommy was absolutely rabid in a fight. His fists swiped through the air, striking and disappearing in a flurry too fast for Sapnap to grab. Though he was keeping Tommy on the ground by straddling him, it was impossible to catch the offending hands for a proper pin.

“I’m not doing it for him! I’m doing it because L’Manburg’s blindly pointing fingers at me!”

“Oh, I’m sure you deserve whatever you have coming!” Tommy’s laugh was violent and dark as he dug the soles of his boots into the grass and kicked. He was shot out from under Sapnap, and before the other could react he rolled to scoop up his dropped weapon.

Sapnap lunged. Tommy met him with the hilt of the sword.

The blunt handle of the object struck Sapnap square in the head, consequently sending him sprawling out sideways in the grass before he fell still. Tommy didn’t hang around to find out whether he was dead or just unconscious.

He had to get to the stage before Dream respawned and made it back. Hopefully, it’d turn out that Dream had been on his last life and wouldn’t return.

Tommy had no such luck. He never had that kind of luck.

An enderpearl shattered and Dream appeared on top of the obsidian cage. Before Tommy could do anything about it- or even make it up onto the stage- the little opening in the cell front was sealed with more clean obsidian.

Tommy sprung up just as Dream jumped down, and then they were on level ground glaring at each other in an icy standoff.

Dream raised his axe, that smiling mask looking at Tommy and staring right through to his soul. Tommy’s fingers found the strap of leather attaching his garrotte to his hip, and with a snap he undid its clasp. His hand curled around the handle as the loops of wire fell to the ground.

Tommy’s gloved fingers moved deftly to grasp the wooden grip in one hand, the other sliding down the length of the coil before finding a good spot and holding there. He lifted his hands, the weapon hanging limp until an expert flick of the wrist sent the weight spinning.

Tommy advanced, lassoing the garrotte vertically in the air in front of himself. Dream, lacking a similarly ranged weapon, fell back.

Tommy snapped a hand forward and the wire lashed out. The air whirred as the whip-thin tendril cut through the empty space, Dream stepping back just before the thing could make contact with him.

Tommy struck again. Dream raised the axe as the wire sliced forwards, snapping across his bare fingers and carving into the skin there. There was a muffled yelp of surprise.

Tommy bared fangs instead of teeth. Murder glinted in his eye as Dream looked up again, processing that this was a weapon he had no idea how to handle.

Dream had to disarm Tommy. He let his sleeves fall over his sliced and bloodied fingers, which provided only meager protection, and raised the handle of his axe as the weapon cut through the air at him again. The wooden hilt blocked the wire from hitting flesh, but Dream hadn’t accounted for the weight at the end.

The metal ball and its momentum kept the tail-end of the wire moving, flinging it to wrap around the wood so that the weight swung and violently struck the edge of Dream’s mask and his temple.

Tommy gripped the handle of the garrotte and yanked, the wrapped wire pulling the axe from Dream’s skinned hands when his grip faltered. The latter’s hold had loosened with the instinct to grab his face where metal had hit him and shattered a good portion of his mask. Now he was paying for it.

Dream could not focus on the loss as his primary weapon was ripped away from him to clatter across the wooden boards of the stage. Now he _really_ had to disarm Tommy, quickly.

Tommy’s eyes reflected darkness instead of his old childlike wonder as he continued to advance. He readied his throwing hand once more and Dream ducked just fast enough for the wire to whip over his head without making contact.

Dream used the opportunity to tackle Tommy, leading with his shoulder as he slammed into the smaller boy.

There was a bloody scream as Tommy hit the ground, holding a length of the wire in his hands and using it to block Dream’s attempt to take Tommy’s exposed throat in his fists and squeeze the life out of him. Dream was bleeding more than Tommy, but finally he had gotten some semblance of advantage over the wild boy.

Finally, an idea struck.

Dream raised his fists and slammed his forearms down on the space of the wire just next to Tommy’s hands, overpowering the younger boy and forcing his fists down against the ground on either side of his face. The wire, still in Tommy’s hands, was shoved down with the movement and stretched across the boy’s neck.

Blood welled up around the wire as it began to dig into flesh. Tommy gasped for air and struggled for any kind of escape.

The thrashing only made it worse. Dream smiled behind his broken mask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey did you guys know that the initial plan for this fic was ghostinnit? fun fact :) /lh
> 
> anyways im a sapnap apologist too


	19. Into The Water, Let It Pull Him Under

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (drive your son like a railroad spike)
> 
> chapter title from bottom of the river by delta rae
> 
> violence is continued in this chapter and wont be resolved until the next. stay safe, friends!

Philza heard the wild, wounded cry from upstage and immediately his blood ran cold. He had been hidden back on the sidelines, arrow notched and ready for anyone who got in the way of his boys. It had been mostly to provide cover for Techno- being a looming hulk of an animal did make him a bit of a target- but at the cry, his head snapped towards the centerpiece of the festival.

Beneath the podium, Dream was holding down Tommy. It was hard to tell exactly what was going on, and the thrashing from both parties would make drawing the bow a risky endeavor, so there was little choice but to get over there as quickly as possible.

Shoving the bow back into its place, Philza crouched down and spread his large wings. One mighty beat and he was airborne.

He shot over to the commotion and barreled straight into Dream, a blur of pale sage and grays smashing against lime and scarlet. Dream dropped Tommy as he was thrown back, skidding against the stage with a pained grunt.

A good chunk of Dream’s mask had been shattered, blood dripping down the side of his face from somewhere up in his hairline. His hands were crossed with open wounds, presumably where attempts to grab had been intercepted by the cutting material of Tommy’s wire.

 _Good_. Tommy had yet to get up from where he’d fallen and Philza was out for blood because of it.

Philza’s fists clutched at the neck of Dream’s hoodie, grabbing him and lifting him up before slamming him painfully back down onto the wooden boards of their platform. Dream grabbed and kicked, managing to land one solid hook of a punch before he made contact with the ground.

Dream was a weasel, though, and before Phil could react he twisted away with expert cunning. The two men leapt up and faced each other, waiting for the first hint of movement before the fighting would erupt again.

The second Dream standoff of the night did not end near as elegantly as the first. It was much more cutthroat, and at this point Phil wasn’t even sure if it was to save a life or avenge it. The thought made his eyes burn and heart wrench. He prepared to fight harder. He had to get Dream out of the way so he could get to Tommy.

Phil ripped his knife out of its place in his coat when Dream began moving. It was a very… symmetrical thing, no curve. Blade transitioned smoothly to handle, the design made for balance. A very handy projectile.

He pulled it back and threw before Dream even got a few steps forward. No amount of precision could change the fact that Dream had on a mask, though, and the thing embedded shallowly in the crack of the white material.

Dream stumbled back and grabbed the weapon, ripping it out of his mask just as Phil lunged for him.

Phil narrowly dodged the swipe Dream made towards him, canting back as the blade cut through the air where he’d been standing just moments before. The second time Dream swung it was more of a jabbing motion, and Philza- with all the elegance that Dream lacked- twisted away to grab at the attacking arm.

Philza’s hand gripped, with iron force, the crook of Dream’s elbow. His free arm swung upward and made contact with the handle of the blade, knocking it out of Dream’s hold. Dream’s free fist swung at Philza’s head, striking his jaw before he could get away.

They were wrestling with each other now, boots thumping heavily on the floor as each man tried gaining the upper hand against the other. When Dream threw another punch at him, Philza danced around the podium. Dream’s weight was thrown forward against the thing, the microphone ringing in protest, and Philza kicked it out from under Dream so that he collapsed to the ground in a heap.

Dream was on the ground, but the fight was far from finished. He rolled to his stomach as he tried to get the wind back in him, swinging his feet in an arc to try and knock Philza off balance. He nearly succeeded, too, heel striking ankle painfully and only failing to get Philza on the ground because of the rapidly flapping wings.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dream noticed the glittering of his abandoned axe. If he could get to it, this could be over.

Philza was unaware of Dream’s goal, the green figure springing at him from the ground. He leapt into the air before contact could be made, boots slamming back onto the wood with a resounding _thump_. Dream’s hands found the ground as he pushed himself up and away before he could get trampled.

It was slow-going, punches and dodges and parries slowly pushing the pair towards the side of the stage Dream had warred with Tommy on. Finally, though, they made it, and Dream allowed himself to be thrown to the ground.

Philza was stood panting over him with murder in his eyes and blood in his heart.

 _Damn animal._ Dream’s thoughts turned condescending as he grinned up at Philza behind the mask. A sharp toll to the side and he was gone again, taking the axe up in his hands as he escaped and got back to his feet.

His back was to Phil, but he could hear the complaint of the wood as the latter charged a final time. Dream spun around with the axe in-hand and swung.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because i update twice a day, you guys get shorter chapters and a billion cliffhangers xoxo
> 
> ANYWAYS MORE [FANART](https://twitter.com/phant0mdisc/status/1341404695403884549?s=21) SHOW EM SOME LOVE FOR IT AHBSHSBH


	20. Snarebunny

Tommy wasn’t entirely sure that he knew what was happening. He only knew that his neck was uncomfortably warm and wet, a different kind of heat than he was used to from Tubbo’s bandanna or anything of the sort.

He only remembered his air supply being constricted as he was slowly choked like a snared rabbit before his vision had gone black.

On second thought, that explained it. There was a shallow wound crossing his neck from Dream’s attempt at asphyxiation. Murder via strangulation was more personal, and Tommy could only assume Dream had spared him the dignity of an explicitly cut throat in favor of watching the light fade from gray eyes as the world went dark.

The back of his throat tasted like metal, like he’d shoved a fistful of old coins in his mouth. Tommy rolled over and coughed, the noise weak and pitiful and covered by the commotion of a dwindling riot occurring just off to his side. Flecks of blood dotted the boards beneath him, and when he turned to look there was an unsettling amount of the stuff smeared over.. everything. It was quite possibly the shittiest paint job he had seen.

He was still lightheaded and dizzy from lack of oxygen, but as everything came back to him he was spurred to move. He needed to get to Tubbo, he needed to-

Oh.

He looked just in time to see Dream make a mad bolt for his axe.

Philza was preparing to tackle Dream. Neither noticed as Tommy stretched out on his stomach to reach and snatch the handle of his garrotte, pulling his weapon back to him.

He staggered to his feet and spun the wire in anticipation of a throw as Dream readied the axe.

The weapon cut through the air, and instead of harmlessly catching the axe as it had last time for a relatively bloodless disarm, the wire spun to wrap around Dream’s wrist. Tommy was deaf to the sound of muscle being sliced into as blood welled up and soaked through the thick green fabric of the hoodie. He only pulled the wire taut so it would constrict more before he yanked.

Dream yowled in pain and confusion as his arm was cut into and he was suddenly being pulled backwards into the ground again. Philza’s lunge missed as his target was stolen out from under him.

Tommy winced as his father tumbled painfully to the ground. He was still dizzy, but thankfully Dream seemed just about as disoriented and confused as he did. Wisened to the effects struggling would have, Dream let his caught arm go slack and reached to try and take the axe in his other hand.

Philza stepped on the weapon’s handle before Dream could do such a thing. Tommy still felt sick, so he sat down in the midst of all the blood and chaos like nothing was happening and let his vision glaze over. He hoped Tubbo was okay. Hopefully not hyperventilating, there was only so much air in there. Tommy knew a thing or two about no air.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there recomposing himself, but when he snapped back to reality Dream was gone and Philza was looking over him with a concerned glint in his eye. Tommy was feeling better but had no desire to speak, so his attempt to communicate his total okay-ness was with a two-fingered salute.

This only made Philza look more concerned, and soon warm hands were undoing the bandanna at his neck. The cloth was pulled away and Tommy noticed that the green was speckled with red. Hopefully Tubbo wouldn’t be mad.

“It’s not deep, thank goodness.” Philza’s voice felt like a rumbling murmur, a verbal hug, even as the bandanna was pulled and tied back around his neck a little tighter this time as a makeshift bandage.

“I need to get Tubbo,” Tommy rasped, and Philza frowned. Suddenly the younger boy noticed that the world seemed much more quiet than it had when he’d woken up.

“I’ll call Techno.”

“No, not Techno, Tubbo.”

“Oh! I heard you, but Techno will get him out. We need to get you home, mate.”

“I need to get Tubbo.” Tommy repeated, and Phil sighed.

* * *

Tommy was under his father’s arm as he was guided away from the wrecked festival. Despite everything that had just happened, he was warm and he was happy, and the sound of warfare had faded into nothing so that the only noise around was the repetitive  _ taptaptap _ of Techno chipping away at far off obsidian. He was too dazed to care how much he was leaning into Philza- just starved for the affection that he was now vulnerable enough to let come.

He thought he heard his name and glanced backwards, though his vision was obstructed by a large silver wing that rose just as he tried to turn his head. Looking back pulled at his wound and the dried blood around it painfully, so he just ducked back into Philza’s side and let himself be led away.

Tommy could hear Techno start to shout. He sounded angry, but Philza didn’t utter a word about it so the boy tried his hardest to ignore it as he made his way back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wait, he isn’t dead! shia surprise! there’s a gun to your head, and death in his eyes! /ly
> 
> THIS FIC HAS GOTTEN MORE [FANART](https://twitter.com/pokinator1/status/1341686069041930240?s=21) AND I JUST WANTED TO SAY TO EVERYONE WHO’S CONTRIBUTED TO THE SUCCESS OF THIS FIC, THANK YOU SO MUCH??? it means SO MUCH to me that this is doing as well as it is and all ur guys’ support means everything to me
> 
> anyways uhhh here’s a link to [my own art](https://twitter.com/fishstixx_/status/1341450099629699072?s=21) too because i have also made something for this + here’s how their default designs look in my head


	21. Everybody Loves The Underdog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (singin’, “that’s my dog, that’s my dog!”)
> 
> chapter title from comeback kid (thats my dog) by brett dennen

Tubbo had been on the ground in the cramped obsidian box, his back to the wall as he clutched Squeeks to his chest. His chin was down against his chest- head ducked so that no one could see his brown hair through the opening. 

Eventually even that had been sealed up and Tubbo was left entirely in the dark.

Even if he hadn’t been surrounded by obsidian on all sides, Tubbo wouldn’t have heard exactly what was going on out there. He was too busy focusing on keeping his own breathing even as the tears began rolling down his cheeks, panic deafening him.

He would die here, and this poor fox was being subjected to the same thing that Tubbo was.

“I don’t know why you’re in here.” Tubbo sniveled, talking to the fox even if it made him sound crazy. Anything to make Tubbo feel like he wasn’t alone for this. “You didn’t do anything. People can be mad at me all they want, but they should leave you alone.”

The fox made a peculiar little chirp and swiped its tongue over Tubbo’s chin.

And that made him feel a little better, yes, distracted him from the searing pain in his shoulder that was beginning to spread to his chest. The box was hot, stuffy, and the fact that he was bleeding helped nobody.

Tubbo held Squeeks close with his good arm and waited.

Eventually Tubbo could feel sharp chips of shiny rock falling down from above him, and he shut his eyes against his shaking and the micro cuts from the newly freed shards of obsidian. 

Finally, _finally_ , there was light in the cell again. Tubbo looked up into the eyes of Technoblade and accepted that he was not going to be freed.

The young president cowered away, letting the fox go because he was totally brave and not because it had started to squirm with the desire to escape. The words came out before he realized what he was saying, fragmented and hurried with his spiking fear. “Just make it quick, please, do-n’t hurt Squeeks, he never did anything to anyone-“

And soon he was being lifted up by his collar, squealing with the pain in his shoulder as the boar scrutinized him. The fox sprung out of the hole and ran circles around them, its odd squeaking cries filling the air as it bolted.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Techno rumbled, and soon Tubbo was being set down by large cloven hands that were gentler than anticipated. He wheezed and nearly fell over, suddenly lightheaded with relief.

Now that he was out, he could do a quick survey of the damage. Broken posts, a bloodied stage, boards missing from a few of the benches where they’d been ripped from their place and used as weapons. Thankfully it was only man made objects that had been subjected to the chaos, excluding a small trail of trampled underbrush where someone had slid down the hill that overlooked the area.

It seemed the only people left here were Techno, Tubbo, and someone retreating far off in the distance. The wings were an unmistakable _Philza_ identifier. It seemed there was someone else with him, too, but when Tubbo scrambled forward on one arm to get a closer look, those wings lifted and obscured Tubbo’s view.

“Wait!” Tubbo cried, only managing to get a short burst of distance behind him until his injured arm refused to support him any longer. He fell forward into the grass and nearly screamed with the pain. “Wait! Who’s with him? Is that Tommy?”

“No.” Technoblade answered for Philza, and Tubbo rolled onto his back as the grief struck him anew.

“...Is Tommy dead?”

And Techno just looked down at him, all dark and battlescarred, and didn’t answer.

Tubbo forced himself to his knees, dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, and tried not to cry.

“I-I miss him, Technoblade, I do,” Tubbo started to babble. The boar creature’s expression crossed with an unmistakable form of quiet fury.

“You made the mistake of taking away- from your most loyal dog- everyone to be loyal to.” Techno leaned down over Tubbo, all bared teeth and sharp words ready to dig into the boy, but Tubbo just started crying again. That cemented the fact that the boy was delirious with pain and grief, in Techno’s mind, so he let it be.

“You need to get home.” The instructions were quiet. Tubbo just nodded. Technoblade wasn’t allowed into L’Manburg, his help would have to end here.

* * *

He was sat on the edge of his bed, staring out the window with his arm in a sling. There was a nasty gash where Dream’s axe had struck and Tubbo had to have his chest and shoulder splinted seeing as the joint had near dislocated and bone had cracked under the force of the blow. The wound was in an odd spot, so they couldn’t just treat one small area and now his whole arm was out of commission and his chest was wrapped in a thick layer of white.

_Taking away everyone to be loyal to. From your most loyal dog._

The gears were turning in Tubbo’s head. He was naïve, maybe, and optimistic, but not stupid. Why had Technoblade helped him? It made sense that he’d been at the festival, if only for the sake of causing chaos, and maybe Philza had given the shifter instruction to let him out of the box safely. That much made sense. Loose gray feathers had adorned the stage, the soft down sticking up in stiff, gross tufts where blood had wetted the material and then dried. There was ample evidence of the Antarctic Empire fighting on L’Manburg’s behalf.

What didn’t make sense was the way Philza had been holding himself as he retreated, simultaneously open and guarding. Like there was something to shield, to hide, but he didn’t want anyone to know it. It could have been Ghostbur, but that didn’t make such sense. Ghostbur hadn’t been seen anywhere in ages.

Tubbo thought back to that pillar, and Dream’s acceptance of Tommy’s death, and he mused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so tommy was (obviously) seen at the festival so thankfully this oblivious idiot will soon find out that his best friend is not, in fact, dead


	22. Tinnitus (And I Hurt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> content warning for mild fever dreams, delirium, and slight hallucinations
> 
> -
> 
> on that note, i will be taking a slight slight break! for the 24th and 25th (and possibly longer depending on my schmood) i’ll only be posting one chapter a day instead twice as usual. thats still mad frequent for fanfic updates ofc, because i love writing this, but i need to chill a little WHEEZE

Tommy was running, sprinting for his life through an unfamiliar forest.

The undergrowth was much more sparse than would be ideal. It provided no cover and Tommy could feel his pursuers gaining on him.

Three sets of footsteps behind him faded to two. Tommy was hyper-aware of it.

He saw a break in the tree line, the silhouette of L’Manburg just past the old wooden fence he’d leapt last time. 

He was just on the cusp of safety. He could make it.

Dream was waiting there to grab Tommy in his arms.

* * *

Tommy woke up in his own bed with one _hell_ of a headache. 

He didn’t remember climbing in there himself. When he sat up, piles of furs and animal pelts slid off his chest. Suddenly hot and desperate for a waft of cool air, he kicked and thrashed out with his socked feet until all the blankets were in a messy heap on the ground.

He could still see the moon past his window, still felt weighed down by weariness; so he rolled back over and let sleep reclaim him despite the fearful shake in his hands.

* * *

He was in the forest again. There was a terrible aura of gloom, the area darkened by dusk and holding a layer of ominous fog.

It felt safe. What was dangerous for others felt like home to Tommy. The briars would protect him from the unforgiving outside, from those hands that had grabbed him and tried to kill him (again).

Or... maybe the hands had held him close, shielded him from the thorns, and protected. Tommy didn’t know. He was confused.

There was a piercing whistle that echoed through the whole forest. Tommy looked down and found paws instead of hands; when he looked up again, an elk’s muzzle was inches from his own.

Despite their near proximity, he could not feel its breath.

* * *

Tommy awoke a second time freezing cold. Despite this, a thin layer of sweat made his hair stick to his forehead. It was still dark out.

His hands fumbled blindly for a blanket, and after he found it and haphazardly threw it over himself, he fell back asleep. _It was still dark out._

* * *

The ache against his throat was gone, as was the soreness from yesterday’s strain. Still his body hurt.

He looked at his hands- actual _hands_ this time- and found them bound in the loose and worn wraps he’d had for the majority of his exile.

Tommy realized he was sitting down and dared a look around. The moon was up, he was on a bench overlooking a valley, and this time he was not the first one here. Tubbo was beside him.

Tubbo’s arm was in a sling, and when Tommy tried to glance at it, his ears started ringing and his head filled with noise. In his peripheral, it just appeared as a buzzing black shadow, so Tommy resigned himself to not knowing and looked ahead again.

“You said you were coming this weekend but I didn’t see you.” Tubbo spoke. He sounded a little flat, a little confused, and Tommy hurt.

“I was there,” Tommy promised anyway.

“Is that why Techno and Philza showed up?”

“Yeah,” Tommy began as he looked down again and went to picking at the wraps around his fingers. His hands were beginning to itch and burn painfully. “And it looks like you got out of that cage, too. I’m just glad it wasn’t posthumously.”

“I dont know what that word means.” Tubbo began, slowly, and in that moment Tommy realized that he was picking up on Techno’s vocabulary. If he had his usual spark, maybe he could’ve mustered up enough melodramaticism to throw up in his mouth a little. Tubbo continued.

“I dont think my brain would imagine you saying a word that I don’t know the meaning of. ... Are you real, Tommy? Is this real?”

Tommy snapped his head to look at Tubbo and curled his lip to flash white teeth that more closely resembled those of a mustelid than a boy. Tubbo’s little horn stubs- which hadn’t been there last time they’d seen each other in person, now that he considered it- had suddenly narrowed and heightened so they looked more like the beginnings of a young stag’s antlers. Tommy’s defensive facade of anger dropped, slipping into a shocked startle, as he _looked_ and saw Wilbur instead of Tubbo.

“You’re crazy,” He said, and he must have said it twice because Tubbo gave him an odd look. “You’re crazy. _I’m_ crazy.”

“Tommy, calm down, please.”

“You never once came!” Tommy barreled on with delirious fervor, and he didn’t know who he was talking to anymore. “I-I did everything, I widened the path, I placed sign markers, I set up parties, I made it _so_ easy to get to me and still no one came!”

Tubbo ( _Wilbur? Techno? Dad?_ ) reached out, slow and deliberate, like one would extend a hand to a beaten dog. Tommy still bit.

* * *

Philza was swiping a damp cloth over Tommy’s head when the boy began to stir again. He had a fever- not at all a bad one, and to be expected both because of the time of year and the day prior’s events- so Philza came as the sun rose to check on him and change the light layer of bandages around Tommy’s throat. He wasn’t that worried. He’d handled plenty of colds, onset as a repercussion of violence or otherwise.

As Philza moved his hands, Tommy scowled at some passing dream, his fingers feeling for bowstrings and sword hilts.

The older man watched him, almost amused, as he wiped his hands clean and grabbed the bandages. He carefully untied Tubbo’s bandanna, which was fixed around Tommy’s neck because that was where it belonged and had always been, but also because it hid the old medical tape.

Tommy chose that moment to wake up. It was not like in the movies, where eyes snap open and one shoots up out of bed. Instead Tommy rumbled incoherently without opening his eyes, sensed Philza’s presence there, and reacted. 

Tommy didn’t know who it was, only processed that there was a hand by his throat so he snapped his head around and bit before it could get too close.

Philza yelped and yanked his hand away from the ( _weirdly sharp [and he would know, because he’d been bitten by Tommy twice recently])_ teeth and scowled. If Tommy wasn’t up before, he definitely was now, the boy pushing himself up with a confused and still sleep-blurred sound of warning.

“Aye, mate, it’s just me.” Philza said, and even as his hand stung and burned he couldn’t be mad. Tommy was like a rescue animal and almost had to be regarded as one.

“Dad?” Tommy asked. His voice was small and confused so Philza wiggled to sit in the spot beside the boy. He sounded like _shit._

“Mhmm.” Philza hummed, taking up the bandages. He tried to find something he could ramble on about to ignore how he’d been addressed and to fill the silence without Tommy speaking, because he sounded- in all honesty- like a throttled goose.

“Morning, sunshine.” _(_ A hoarse _“fuckin’ prick”_ was the only response he was graced with. Both a blessing and a curse.) “Let me see that cut.”

Tommy did. Phil continued prattling on. “Glad to see you’re more alive than yesterday. Didn’t think you’d be out for long, but still. Quicker than anticipated. You’ve got a slight fever so if I catch you out of bed I’ll throw ‘ya back in before you can think twice about it.”

Tommy glared mutinously as Philza snipped the edge of the bandages to length and finished the little repair job. It really was just a shallow cut, most of the damage being from pressure against the windpipe and not blood loss, so Philza silently decided that if Tommy actually did as asked, there wouldn’t be risk of the wound opening up again and he could quit bandaging it. A mighty good thing if he was going to get bit by the bastard every time he went to change the dressing.

Still. Tommy hadn’t spoken against him, so Phil had to take the small victories. 

“-Anyways. I’ll bring you up something to eat soon.” With a ruffle of Tommy’s blond hair, he slipped off into the kitchen.

He returned to find Tommy asleep again, set the plate on the table, and slunk out of the room with a self-satisfied smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wilbur, in the afterlife, ushering a little elk him towards tommy: go on tell him it’ll be okay and then link his dream to tubbo’s  
> the elk: no ❤️  
> /j
> 
> (ok but in actuality tommy’s dreamscape is distorted because he has a fever. that’s why everything is all wonky)
> 
> i did my best to make it fragmented (because tommy’s a little out of it in this one) while still telling a cohesive story, so if anyone’s confused lmk and i’ll explain the best i can!


	23. The Angle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> happy holidays! today is christmas and as a little reward [REDACTED] here gets the gift of knowledge. as a treat

The first order of business, after the festival, was to get his cabinet together so they could _freak out about the festival._

Tubbo was sitting at the end of the table, head in his hand as he stared down at the dark surface of the furniture and tried to tune out the sounds of Fundy and Quackity’s debate ( _bickering_ ). They’d been here for almost half an hour already and gotten nowhere. Any attempt at civilized discussion almost immediately turned to a screaming match.

“We can’t trust the Arctic Empire!” Quackity insisted for near on the hundreth time while Fundy jabbed a claw at him.

“Yeah, but it was obviously them who performed the hit on Dream! Everyone else was accounted for at the festival beforehand, and they only showed up after!”

“That’s just because they hate government, which means they hate us!”

“Technoblade’s a reformed man, maybe it’s just tyrannical government he hates now!”

“Who’s to say his definition of tyrannical isn’t us?”

“Now you’re just reaching!”

“Guys!” Tubbo snapped finally, lifting his gaze to level the bickering pair into silence. It worked. “Nobody’s asking anyone to trust them. Besides, think of it like… means to the same end. Dream lost a life. We got what we came for, huh?”

“...No, our ‘end’ was a little different.” Fundy mused, his tail twitching idly as he thought. “We didn’t have you all trussed up like a prize chicken and in a sling by the end of it.”

“ _Fundy_ ,” Tubbo tried again, and something about the desperate cadence of his voice made the fox shifter clamp his jaws shut. 

Now that the president had some semblance of order, he rose.

“Will one of you _please_ tell me exactly what happened?”

Those present in the room started clambering to get to speak as Tubbo pinched the bridge of his nose. His headache was returning. 

Ranboo was the only person present who _wasn’t_ making him want to stab a fork through his eyes, and the enderman hybrid didn’t even care for the politics of the meeting. He was just stood at the door to keep watch with his back pointedly to them. Lingering, always lingering. He seemed present for just about anything important, but only far off in the back where everyone could forget about him.

Maybe that was what made Tubbo shush his cabinet and jab a finger at him. “Ranboo, you talk.”

“Me?” He started, and when Tubbo nodded insistently, he began.

“It looked like it was going to plan, at first, but when the stage curtains drew, you weren’t the one standing there. It was Dream. And he opened the wooden window, and hit you with the axe- it’s a wonder you survived that, by the way, I thought he would’ve just… you know, beheaded you- and then he fell and there was an arrow in the back of his head. I dunno who it came from, only that it was high up. Like, the angle it was stuck at, _I_ would’ve had to be on my tip-toes for an arrow to lodge like that. It was weird.”

Tubbo nodded slowly, his uninjured arm lowering so he could curl his fingers around the compass in his pocket. The needle had fallen still some time late the night before, and Tubbo figured it had finally broken for real this time.

“So it was someone not at the festival.” Tubbo deducted. “For it to come from high up, I mean.”

“The Antarctic Empire,” Fundy announced, shooting a smug little grin to a seething Quackity. “Philza had a bow, it could’ve been him.”

“No, no.” Quackity’s hand came up and found Fundy’s cheek in a shove. “He came from way off towards stage left, Dream was shot from someone standing behind him. Not to one side of him. That rules out Techno, too, he came from the direction opposite Phil.”

“So it was Tommy!” Fundy’s tone was chipper despite just getting pushed on, and he jabbed the other man with an elbow in retaliation. “It was Tommy, and then everything exploded, so Philza and Techno took advantage of the riot to cut down anyone siding with Dream. Well, that was easy, mystery solved.”

“No,” Tubbo choked out quickly. “Mystery not solved.”

And suddenly all eyes were on him, so he swallowed thickly and continued. “Tommy’s dead.”

The faces surrounding him suddenly looked very confused.

Fundy finally broke the silence. “...Uh, no he isn’t. He was there, looked all fine and dandy to me. He even knocked out Sapnap.” 

“I can confirm, he did knock out Sapnap. Clobbered him with his own sword.”

Tubbo looked between Fundy and an animated Quackity, almost disbelieving. He wanted to believe it so, _so_ , bad though, so instead of skepticism, he held onto the anger.

His expression darkened, his tone got all sharp and high with upset as he gripped the table with white knuckles. “So _no one_ thought to tell me Tommy’s not dead?”

“You thought he was dead?” Fundy asked, and Tubbo leveled him with a murderous look. By now unphased by such reactions, the fox’s perplexed gaze held steady.

“You didn’t?” Tubbo retaliated, and he sounded more upset than angry now.

Fundy shook his head. Tubbo’s frown deepened.

“But Dream said-”

“I take everything Dream says with a grain of salt.” Fundy puffed, unimpressed. “I thought we all learned this lesson.”

Tubbo was so relieved that he could cry. Really, the only reason why he didn’t excuse himself then and there was because he still had so, so many questions.

“Why was Tommy there?”

“I don’t know. He was rolling around on stage with Dream when I booked it outta there, that was his problem and I wanted nothing to do with it. Maybe it has something to do with all the _cobblestone_ I was missing this morning. And the gaps.”

Tubbo was really lightheaded now. He didn’t faint- presidents don’t _faint_ \- but he did slouch back down into his chair and stare up at the ceiling.

Tommy was alive. Tommy was alive, Tommy had saved him, and Tommy was working with the Antarctic Empire.

Fundy had said that Tommy seemed fine, but Tubbo was still unsure. The blond had looked so, _so_ ill in their dreams, and Tubbo remembered those flashes of sharp teeth and waking up to a bite wound on his hand that looked like it had been dealt by dog’s fangs.

Something was wrong. He was going to find out what.


	24. Forager

Tommy had gotten a full day of restless rest and was doing better the following day.

He still looked a little bit like shit; bruising beneath both eyes, and on his back and shoulders where he’d made impact with the stage. He even had purple marring the skin on the back of his knees where Sapnap had violently deadlegged him to get the upper hand in their scuffle.

Still, he refused to sit in bed forever, so when he finally got the energy to stumble to his feet, he went to go find something he could eat.

The kitchen was empty when Tommy slunk in, thankfully. He was still ruffled by the day before, by the _night_ before, and thinking too hard about it made his heart hurt and head pound. He was in no mood for Techno’s pestering or Philza’s small talk.

Tommy was sat up on the counter shoving berries into his mouth when he heard the door open and click shut again. He startled at the noise.

There was some primal urge to grab fistfuls of food and run that Tommy only barely managed to resist. Nervous, he began swinging his feet back and forth over the edge of the countertop in an attempt to get out the skittish energy.

It felt like every interaction with Dream sent him many bounds backwards and he _hated_ it. No matter how many times he said no, how many times he even dared to turn a fist against him, the next day Tommy would lament the hurt he’d caused his only friend.

Philza’s face appeared in the doorway, then blanked.

“Tommy, what the fuck?”

“Wha’?” He squeaked out. The urge to grab everything and run came back tenfold.

“Did you- what did you get into?”

Tommy looked down at his hands, smeared with red where his hold on the berries had gotten too tight in his fear and crushed them. He emitted a rigid laugh to try and shake off the oncoming claustrophobia. It didn’t work.

He uncurled his fists and held his palms out for Philza to see, seeds and pieces of pulp betraying that he had not just committed a gutting. “Relax, old man, just gettin’ a snack.”

His voice was still terribly hoarse, and when Phil cringed so did Tommy.

“Oh. Well, glad to see you eating. When you were younger, I had to fight to-“

“Oh, shush.” Tommy flushed angrily and mustered up the darkest look he could manage. It must have not been very effective, considering he had two black eyes and the aftermath of a berry massacre staining his hands. He tried anyways because he wanted nothing less than to listen to Phil prattling off about his younger habits. At least the older man did as asked and moved on with a smug little snicker.

“Nevermind that then. How do you feel?”

“Better.” It was barely an answer, and Tommy went to pick at the skin he’d near bitten off of his thumb- a nervous habit, when he woke up too petrified to talk and his mouth needed to move but the words refused to come; he’d babble incomprehensibly to fill the silence and whittle away at the pads of his own fingers with his teeth.

Phil took this answer for the conversation-ender that it was and turned to duck out of the room. “Sure thing. Just wash your hands, I’m already trying to figure out how to get the blood out of your bandanna. Don’t need any more stains.”

It was lighthearted, Tommy knew, but he still felt his stomach drop. It was an instruction he had no desire to follow even with his mind screaming at him that he needed to _obey, listen to what he tells you or he’ll reclaim your things and burn your room or kick you out. He has the power to take._

It was winter. Winter meant less food. Tommy had _starved_ before; not the weak hunger children would complain about after missing a meal accidentally, but actual emaciation that left him with no energy and made getting up to forage even for the smallest scrap an uphill fight. 

Tommy swiped at the sticky juice of the berries he’d crushed in his palm and stuck the finger in his mouth. From an outside look, it was a motion that seemed innocent enough.

Insight into Tommy’s head showed that there was a fear of starvation so inlaid that it meant the tiniest drop would get licked away before he dared to wash his hands.

He was safe, he thought, but the fear lingered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK SO a while ago, i only had up to the festival roughly outlined. now that that event’s over, i added more! that means i also have a way to organize the fic
> 
> chapter two up until the festival’s end is part of “act” one. we’re currently in intermission, downtime between parts; technically its the second act, but i’m not going to announce it as such until plot past tommy’s healing comes back. idk how many acts there will be, just as many as i have relevant plot ideas i guess lol


	25. Deafening Screams of Instinct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> raccooninnit

“ _Tommy, get off the couch!_ ”

The sound of parental scolding made Tommy nearly leap out of his skin and fall off his perch. He’d been in his socks, sliding around on the floor and using the momentum to leap up and balance on the arms and back of the boxy couch Phil and Techno kept. He’d scamper around like a little dog with too much energy, complete a loop, then do it again.

He wasn’t supposed to go outside in the cold. His throat was still fucked, and though the fever had dissipated, Phil insisted that the climate- snowy and unforgiving even when it _wasn’t_ winter- would just take a recovering Tommy out again.

He understood, maybe, but _damn_. There was an instinctual need to climb, to squirrel up tree branches and hide away up high. 

(Stashes of golden apples, ender pearls, iron, and anything of the slightest use could be found hidden up in the rafters. His family didn’t ask, so they didn’t know, and Tommy kept nursing his little hoards because he was scared to leave anything out in the open.)

“Sorry, sorry!” Tommy squeaked out, despite the insistent yelling of his own internal monologue that he definitely hadn’t been doing anything wrong. He leapt down off the back of the couch and disappeared down the hall, into his room before Philza could say anything about it.

He shut the door a little harder than intended and winced when it slammed. He clicked the lock to ensure he would be left alone and retreated to dig through his closet.

If he couldn’t climb around inside the house, fine. It wasn’t Tommy’s fault, and it was about time he broke the rules a little bit anyways. 

He did have to properly bundle up, though. Memories of last winter flooded him.

 _Stumbling through the snow, back before he knew darkness fell earlier in the mountains than it did in Logstedshire. The air around him, already frigid, only getting colder as darkness came. His whole body was so cold that it felt like the skin was_ burning _and the only reason Tommy didn’t rip his sad excuse for a coat off was because of Wilbur. His older brother, in the absence of their father, had told him all about the survivalist tactics that Tommy would need to know to make it to adulthood in the unforgiving wilderness in which they’d resided. The knowledge of paradoxical undressing that he’d gotten from Wilbur so long ago was likely the only reason he’d survived the night and been able to make it home to nurse himself back to health._

Tommy shuddered and curled his fingers into fists to make sure that he still could. He came back to himself and began scrounging around for extra clothes to pull on to keep the biting evening chill out. 

A regular shirt, fitted to hug his frame; then one of the soft, warm sweaters he kept specifically to layer. The cape thing he’d gotten from Phil, because the huge puff of fur around the neckline worked better than a scarf. He grabbed for the first heavy coat he could find and shrugged it on, then finally pulled his bandanna up over his nose. He was swaddled up like some sort of pissbaby, maybe, but he desperately wanted to avoid those abstract fever dreams of his if he could help it. That meant not getting sick again.

He’d already had his gloves on. It was just a habit, now, to keep them by his bed and pull them on whenever he woke up. More than once he’d forgotten after getting distracted by something outside. In those moments, he did little to prepare before sprinting outdoors- and would usually end up regretting it. One cut from his wire and Tommy had never forgotten again.

Tommy checked again to make sure his door was locked before shoving on his boots; the heavy, cleated ones, made for treks across frozen lakes and ventures up iced mountains, because those ones were the warmest. Then, slowly and painstakingly, he lifted up the sash of his window.

Getting himself up onto the windowsill was not hard, even if he didn’t want to let his feet touch the snow. If he left prints, Techno would surely see them on his way back to the cabin and tell Phil. Tommy could not handle further lecturing.

His head came out the window first, and he twisted around awkwardly so that he was facing away from the outside. The backs of his legs were pressed against the interior wall as he had yet to actually climb fully out.

Tommy grabbed the top ledge of the window’s frame with both hands and lifted one foot to set on the windowsill, then the other. From there he was _technically_ outside; awkwardly, maybe, but no contact with the ground had been made.

Confident in his own sense of balance, he rose to his feet. His hands found the ledge where the first floor of the cabin met the second.

He clung to that little divet as he jumped up to situate his feet against the wall just beneath his fists. From there, he scrambled to kick the sash of the window down, to close it so as to not raise suspicion. It was hard, when he was clinging to the side of the house like a terrible blond spider, but Tommy managed it. He’d always been a climber. 

Thank goodness Philza had wings, because as a child Tommy would stow away in places that seemed impossible to reach without the power of flight.

Tommy looked up. He couldn’t reach the edge of the roof just yet, but thankfully there was a slight crevice in the wall higher up where stone bricks curved inwards and a log was laid on top.

One hand found that crease, and after his feet found a suitable enough crack in the bricks to provide some semblance of a surface to balance on, he pushed himself up enough to grab with the other hand.

His feet found the place where his hands had just been, and suddenly he was close enough to reach the edge of the roof. It was a stretch, but he managed it. Once he’d grabbed, he just jumped and hauled himself up.

His hands felt sore by the time he was fully on the roof of the cabin, but to his benefit the thick hide of his gloves had saved him from any blistering sensation. He panted, catching his breath, then scrabbled up the angled surface.

He’d lived here long enough to know which side of the house the sun set towards. Tommy leaned against the roof, facing that direction, and waited for the sun to go down.

As he watched the light fade from the sky and the stars come out, he wondered if Tubbo was watching, too.

Tommy hoped so. He missed him.


	26. We Lost the Trailblazer

Tommy loved making paths. It wasn’t until that last dream that Tubbo finally came to realize why.

It was so people could get to _him_ , not so he could get around. Tommy had been afraid of people not coming after him since childhood, and Tubbo had done just that. Refused to go find him.

And even after all that, Tommy had killed a man with no hesitation for him.

Not even a man, a _god._ Tommy had shot Dream in the back of the head without a second thought, and then apparently engaged in fisticuffs with him. For Tubbo, who had thrown Tommy to the wolves for the notion of a nation.

Tubbo swallowed. He needed to speak to Tommy.

He broached the subject at the next cabinet meeting.

“I just… I think we should pardon him.” Tubbo said, slowly, gauging the reactions. They didn’t seem good.

“You can’t just let him back in. He killed Dream, almost killed Sapnap, and _three_ people were shot on his and Techno’s behalf. Oh, _Techno-“_

“He helped L’Manburg, he saved my life. That has to be worth _something_ , Quackity-“

“Look, Tubbo, I want to stick it to Dream as much as the next guy, but this isn’t just messing with Dream. You said it yourself, Tommy’s a liability, and Dream’s certainly going to wage war over this. We need people on our side, and bringing Tommy back will just turn ‘em away. He’s playing buddy-buddy with not one, but _two_ fugitives.”

“We need him precisely _because_ of the war, Quackity!” Tubbo burst, a frantic look overtaking his features. He’d just wanted peace, he only ever wanted peace. “If we want to stand any chance of winning, him and the rest of their empire can’t be against us. You saw how they do in warfare. They were _forged_ in it.”

“Exactly! We can’t just think about ending the war, we also have to think about what comes after- and Tommy only knows war!”

“He’s a person too, he’s one of us!” Tubbo was getting riled up, the upset gleaming sharp in his eyes. “We can help him, teach him otherwise. We have to be there for him in order to do that, though!”

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into the heterochromatic eyes of Ranboo. He sniffed, then shot Quackity one last sad look before he got up and dismissed himself. Ranboo followed.

Tubbo leaned back against the wall of the building once he was outside, his good arm wrapped against himself. His breath clouded out in front of him.

“What happened to your hand?” Ranboo asked, nodding towards the wrap around one of Tubbo’s palms- the one that wasn’t in a sling. The latter chuckled dryly and began to undo the bandages with the intention of fixing them.

“Got bit.”

Ranboo got a good look at the wound and winced. “Damn, man. What kind of animal does that? Was it Squeeks?”

“No. Squeeks doesn’t bite, ever, and he won’t ever start. I can tell by _lookin’ in his_ _eyes_ that he would never. It was, uh, Tommy.”

“You saw Tommy?” Ranboo startled, looking down at Tubbo with shock crossing his gaze.

“Uh, not… technically? It was in a dream.” Tubbo burned at the admission. He bet that he sounded crazy, but Ranboo just nodded and looked ahead again regardless. Tubbo sighed in relief.

“Man, our universe is a weird one,” Ranboo said. Tubbo chuckled dryly at that.

“You’re tellin’ me. I didn’t think they were real at first, you know, the dreams. When I finally started suspecting it, I got scared. I asked Tommy and he got all… weird. Defensive.” Tubbo looked down at his hand. “And I tried to help him and he bit me.”

“You hurt him, you know. He was scared.” Ranboo’s gaze turned to the bite marks. “Have his teeth always been like that? Like an animal’s?”

“No.” Tubbo frowned. “Tommy’s teeth were damn sharp. Maybe he’s like me, he’s changing and presenting as a shifter too and he doesn’t know what to do about it. He never really liked shifters.”

“He likes you,” Ranboo pointed out.

“He doesn’t _know_ that I’m one.”

Ranboo’s expression turned confused, so Tubbo continued. “I mean- he’s never seen the horns or the ears or the tail in person. I was hoping he thinks it’s just a dream thing. I was trying to get Fundy to teach me how to change and all that, but he says he was never taught how so it’s hard for him to do it and I’d have to ask someone else.”

Ranboo looked away. “Intuition tells me that Tommy knows.”

Ranboo was a funny character. Tubbo looked at him- the enderman hybrid certainly knew more about the supernatural ways of the world than Tubbo. Probably because of his heritage, but still. Tubbo trusted him.

“Thanks, Ranboo.” Tubbo said quietly, and excused himself to make the walk back to his house.

He couldn’t go to the Arctic Empire. Even if he could spare the time to leave his country, Dream could easily kill him if he traveled alone. Nevermind the chance that Technoblade found him before Tommy did, and Tubbo got killed.

He needed Tommy to come to _him_. That night marked the beginning of a plan and a waiting game.


	27. Animal Intuition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cw for a raunchy joke, but in an abstract victorian way? like shakespearean raunchy. its very mild but its there

Long ago, when he had first been forced into exile to live out in the elements, Tommy found he could sense the rain.

It was some sort of animal intuition. The moisture in the air, the behavior of the local animals, the subtle shift in the appearance of the clouds. Tommy noticed.

“There’s gonna be a blizzard soon,” Tommy commented one evening, staring at the sky out the frosted window. Technoblade just grunted his agreement and didn’t think twice about the peculiarity of the foresight.

Tommy had been right, too.

They were prepared for it, and the members of the Antarctic Empire were holed up in the cabin with enough food and firewood to wait out the storm.

A flame crackled in the fireplace as Tommy took up a roll offered to him. They were still warm, the insides buttered and glazed with honey. It was easy to ignore the snow furiously kicking up just on the other side of the walls.

Tommy had just been starting his recount of the festival when the precipitation started coming down hard. He paused his tale, crammed as much of the roll as he could hold into his mouth, and hopped up to stand on the plush yet worn cushions of the couch.

The boy held one arm out before him, hand in a fist like he was holding a weapon. He mimed pulling back a string, complete with sound effects as he released the invisible bolt.

“-And I let loose my death shaft quickly from my bow!” Tommy cried, all dramatism as he sprung back down off the couch. His words were muffled by the bread, hoarse from the hold onto his throat only a week before. That didn’t stop him from near-shouting as he grabbed the snack out of his mouth only for a moment long enough to chew. 

“...You did _what_?” Techno asked, looking up from his book with an unimpressed expression. He was nestled right up next to the fire, on the other side of Phil from Tommy. Speaking of, the eldest of the crew was trying and failing to stifle his laughter.

“I _shot_ my _arrow_.” Tommy groaned loudly and finished off the bread, having scarfed it down before Phil and Techno had even really started on theirs. He reached across the table for another. “I thought you were the smart one.”

“That was _not_ an intelligent thought.” Techno sniggered, and Philza finally squeaked out a barking laugh as Tommy seethed.

“Listen here, you pink prick-“

Techno just snorted and tried to grab for Tommy’s roll, which was closer to him than the actual plate of them. The blond squealed and grabbed for the nearest thing he could use as a projectile- one of Phil’s little wooden animal carvings set on the mantle of the fireplace- and readied a throw. “Back, back! Or I’ll smash your skull in!”

“You’re insufferable.” Techno grumbled. Considering he had a new set of scars on the back of his hand- a line of four dots where he’d gotten forked- he just took Tommy’s word for it and leaned back. “Little gremlin boy.”

“I am no gremlin!”

“I think he looks more like an elf,” Phil commented. “Or a gnome. His hair’s getting all long like some sort of woodland cryptid.”

“ _Both_ of you have long hair.”

Techno hadn’t gotten rid of that dumb fucking smirk. “You never get to see mine, though. Human form is overrated.”

“You just get fucking addicted to the sensory boost of the stupid animal brain.” Tommy huffed. Shapeshifters had three forms- the human, the animal, and the in-between. Techno favored the second. It provided heightened strength and senses- better eyesight and hearing, that kind of thing. It was accompanied by stigma, fear of animalistic impulses and those gone rogue or rabid. The human forms had their own specialized benefits, depending on the shifter, and an in-between form got a lesser version of the best of both worlds. The only problem was the hate that followed shifters.

They were neither human nor monster, drifting between both worlds yet belonging to neither. Humans shunned and stigmatized them for it.

Techno just shrugged off Tommy’s jab and went back to reading. 

Phil was quick to try and steer the conversation away from the controversy of shifters, the aggression Tommy could sometimes bear towards them. “I do think you need a haircut though, Toms.”

“Do I _want_ one?”

“You’ll look like me if you don’t get one.”

“I want one.” 

Techno chuffed, producing a hair tie from one of his billions of hidden pockets and chucking it to Tommy. The latter managed to catch it and looked to Techno, confused. Techno explained.

“Until you decide whether you’re getting one or not. It’ll make you look less like you’re living beneath a porch. Keep it out of your eyes and make you look less like Phil.”

“Hey!” Both offended parties exploded at once, and Techno only laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some fluff! we’ll say it’s for comfort after the recent stream and pretend like it hasnt been written for days


	28. Tick, Tock

Tommy started off his next day _beyond_ miserable. He opened his eyes and immediately regretted it, the sunshine that spilled into his room from his bedroom blinding him.

Not in a melodramatic way, either. The light genuinely made him want to curl up and die, only worsening the pounding headache he’d woken up with. It was like someone had positioned a railroad spike against the temple of his head and was rhythmically pounding away at it.

He tried to go back to sleep and ignore it, but even the distant shuffling of people milling about the house sounded deafening. When nausea was added to the pain behind his eyes, Tommy scrambled for the water bottle on the stand beside his bed.

In his clamor for a drink, he accidentally knocked over one of the (many, many) empty bottles. It didn’t shatter, thankfully- because Tommy wasn’t sure that he’d be able to muster up the ability to clean up broken glass- but it did clatter around before rolling to a stop against the edge of an abandoned pelt. The sound was bad enough that he reacted physically, clamping his hands over his ears.

The attempt to block out the noise failed and Tommy found himself swallowing down the last of his drink, abandoning it where he’d found it, and staggering to his feet. Maybe he could find one of his winter hats or ear mitts. Those things, they muffled sound. It was a mild inconvenience for some, but had never been a problem for Tommy before- he had sensitive hearing and on a normal day could hear Technoblade’s monotonous drawling even through all the wool and with some distance. Now, though, he cursed his good ears. 

Phil must have heard him rooting around in his room, because his head appeared in the doorframe. “Tommy! Good-“

“Shut up,” Tommy hissed. Something about his tone made the older man stiffen, and when he spoke again it was much softer and gentler.

“What’s the matter, mate?”

Tommy finally found a heavy woolen beanie and pulled it down over his ears before pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “My head hurts like a bitch.”

Phil swept across the room to sit down across from the boy, holding a palm out in a questioning manner. When Tommy nodded, he pressed the hand to his forehead to check for fever.

“Hm. Well, you’re not warm, so that’s good. Has this ever happened before?”

“No,” Tommy grumbled, and he didn’t complain as Phil helped him back to his feet. Everything hurt and he was ready to collapse backwards into the void.

Then he was being sat back down in bed as Phil began speaking and cleaning up the extra bottles. “Just rest today. Hopefully it won’t happen again, yeah?”

Tommy nodded and laid back down, pulling his pillow over his face to block out the light. 

* * *

It happened again.

A couple days had passed as normal. The first migraine had lasted the full day, but he woke up the next morning more or less okay. He went about his life in the Antarctic Empire- chopping firewood, hunting with Techno, repairing broken down fences and structures as the harsh weather wore them down. Less than a week had passed before he was laid back up in bed though, an arm slung over his eyes while Phil sat at the foot of the bed with his wings folded behind his back.

“And you said this has never happened before?” Tommy vaguely registered that Phil sounded concerned. Still, he didn’t care to muse about that- he just let out a frustrated groan into his pillow and nodded. Phil continued.

“It might be because of the festival, Tommy. Your voice still sounds shot, too.”

“Why th’ hell would the festival be makin’ my head hurt?” Tommy grumbled. Immediately after, he processed that he sounded more upset than offput, so he tacked on a “Huh, bitch?” for good measure.

“You went without oxygen for quite a bit there. That kinda stuff messes with your head.”

“Oh, my head’s perfectly fine. I’ll mess with _your_ head. Try me, bitch. Sweep y’r legs out from under ‘ya, old man. Maybe you’ll crack a hip on the way down, too.” Tommy’s words were slurred, likely a consequence of his disorientation and the pain stabbing behind his eyes, but he put his fists up anyways. “Yeah. ‘Cus you’re old. I’m young and spry. Fuck you.”

“You look pretty dead,” Philza commented, and Tommy peeked out from behind his pillow to glare daggers at the older male.

“ _You’re_ the dead one. One foot in the grave, I tell ‘ya. Clock’s tickin’. Tick tock.”

Philza shook his head and set down a glass beside Tommy’s bed. “Whatever you say, mate. Just remember to drink plenty.”

He left after that, and then Tommy was alone to lament the idea of _this_ hell becoming a regular part of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that makes the list of tommy’s permanent effects of the festival: chronic migraines, vocal chord damage


	29. Three Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i’ll be taking a break for new year’s. happy holidays everyone, see you on the other side!

Winter in their region was beyond violent, so Philza, Techno, and Tommy spent most of it holed up inside. Trips out were minimal to avoid the biting chill of the frost, and to keep as much heat in the house as possible. It was pleasant, bar Tommy’s cabin fever.

“ _Please_ let me go out,” Tommy begged Philza for quite possibly the hundredth time. The latter was just doing work around the house, making his best attempt to ignore the child pestering him.

So Tommy kicked at the broom in Philza’s hands, swiping it with his foot so it slipped and disrupted the dust pile that had been collecting. Philza let out a strained sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll compromise for you, fine. Tomorrow. Tomorrow you can go out and mine for us. We’re low on iron.”

This seemed to satisfy Tommy- or, rather, Philza’s mounting frustration drove him off- and he rounded on his heels to bounce back into the main living area. 

Tommy wasn’t doing anything at the moment, but still he didn’t want to retreat to the safety of his room. In the heart of the house, he felt less alone. Their home was more alive in the center- warmed by the crackling of the fire and the soft humming of Phil as he swept. He could idle here without his own thoughts coming to needle at his insecurities and make him fret that ‘ _maybe I’d been too annoying’,_ ‘ _Phil just wanted me out’, ‘Techno’s not in the house right now because you’re here’_. Being vaguely near other people provided a well-needed respite from his own haunting mind.

Tommy sprawled out on the couch and laid there for who knows how long before a boar creature shouldered into the front door, snow dusting his shoulders and snout from whatever trip he had just embarked on.

“Looks like L’Manburg’s going to play dress-up!” Techno called out to Phil as he pressed a flyer into Tommy’s hands. The blond’s nose scrunched up in an analytical narrow while he skimmed the advertisement, confused at Techno’s lack of… any context. 

“You could’ve started with ‘hi’, like a normal person,” Tommy grumbled as his eyes flitted over the words. 

_L’MANBURG MASQUERADE BALL_

_A CELEBRATION OF THE COMPLETION OF OUR NEWEST VENUE AND OUR CONTINUED SURVIVAL AS A NATION_

_WE WELCOME L’MANBURGIAN CITIZENS AND OUR ALLIES ALIKE TO THIS FORMAL EVENT ON THE DATE OF X.XX.XXXX_

_BUFFET, PUNCH, COMPETITIONS AND ENTERTAINMENT PROVIDED_

Tommy looked up just as Philza appeared, expression pulled downward in a narrow look of confusion. “A… costume party. They’re throwing a costume party.”

“Seems it.” Techno answered him, extracting the paper from Tommy’s hold to pass to Phil. “It’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, but at least we know there won’t be any explosives or fireworks. Can’t do that inside without just about bringin’ the whole place down. And something tells me they wouldn’t build a big fancy ballroom just to destroy it.”

Phil tutted thoughtfully. “And you bring this to our attention because…?”

“Because, for starters, there’s always valuables at those things. Galleries with fancy gemstones so the rich can brag. We might even be able to make off with netherite. And, you know. Of course people will be gone and out of their homes while this is going on.”

“So we steal again,” Tommy said, snickering to try and mask the fact that he was entranced by the thought of glittering gems and free food. Maybe there would be a rare music disc on display, even. “Because that worked out so well for us last time.”

“We survived, didn’t we? And, by all means, this should be safer. It’s just L’Manburg there, I can’t imagine that anyone of the Dream SMP is invited after the last event.”

“It’s still quite a ways off,” Philza said, carefully. Almost methodical, like he was turning over the possibilities in his head. “Things can change.”

“Well, we have time to decide. It isn’t like it’s tomorrow,” Techno waved off, airy. Tommy found the poster back in his lap after Techno had tossed it to the air. “We can go, or we can not. I think it’d be worth it to hit it though, especially if we’re encouraged to wear disguises.”

Tommy turned over the flyer in his hands, debating with himself while his older housemates talked logistics. It’d be fun, certainly. Food was one hell of a motivator, as was the appeal of getting out of the house. 

He considered it and found that he wasn’t scared of the idea. Sure, he might not be able to commit to another heist until he woke up the day of, but… well. His voice had changed drastically in the last year, and especially in the last week or so. That was the only real identifier he had to worry about, and seeing as the only people who truly knew what he sounded like now would be sneaking around as well, Tommy fully believed he could stealth in and out right under the whole country’s nose. It was more a matter of whether or not he _wanted_ to when the date rolled around, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to act two


	30. See Me, Remember Me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for gore, violence, and death

The next day couldn’t have come any slower.

Tommy was waiting for it. He couldn’t care less about whatever party or gala L’Manburg was holding- he wanted to go _mining_ , fuck you Dad.

Once the sun was up, Tommy packed his things and left, calling out a scratchy goodbye to Phil as he slammed the door shut behind him. The winged man always rose with the morning larks. That had been annoying back when Tommy was a young boy wanting to sleep in, but now he didn’t know what sleep _was_ and it meant he could set out as soon as possible.

The snow glittered in the dawn sunlight, warm and orange and welcoming despite its unforgiving nature. Snow killed, yes, but now Tommy was equipped to weather it and he could appreciate the hypothermia-trap that was the Arctic.

It also scared away outside interference, as did the far-off and secure location. He’d hated living here at first. Now, he was thriving.

He had to trek a relatively long distance to find a cave, all the nearby ones being too mined-out for Tommy to bother with them. He complained to fill the silence regardless of whether he actually minded or not.

“It’s so cold out here, fuck. There’s nothing to do but shoot shit and dig.” His mindless chatter filled the air, vaguely directed at the little red puff of a cardinal perched on a low branch that he was passing. “Not that I don’t like doin’ either of those things. Shootin’ shit is actually one of my favorite pastimes. It’s all, ‘s all I like. Violence, drugs, and women. Yeah.”

Tommy only quit his rambling when he found a cave unlit by the dim glow of torches. The sound of his voice would have echod all along the walls and lured in any monster near enough to hear. He wanted to minimize how many more explosions he had to experience in his life, thank you. It didn’t matter whether they were caused by a creeper or Dream and Wilbur, a _boom_ would rattle him all the same.

Mining was busywork, and while he chipped away at the stone, he could try to let his internal monologue blur into a monotonous hum. Used to, he struggled doing nothing. After a year spent with little to do or focus on past his own survival, the autopilot came easy.

Chip, chip, chip. The ores were freed easily from the cave wall by the swinging of his netherite pick. 

Chip, chip, chip. It made pretty good white noise, filling the silence with something other than words. Maybe he should mine more often.

Chip, chip, chip. A path was made along the cave wall when the sides of the rock fell too sharply downward for him to be comfortable with.

The sound of netherite on stone was a distinctive sound, a noise that Tommy was honed in on. When the slightest shift came, he noticed.

He stopped swinging his pick. Far off down the cave, there was a single faint _pat,_ but it stopped just a beat after Tommy’s mining did.

Testily, Tommy swung his pick once. The sound of that far-off pat came as his pick made contact with the stone.

Suddenly, he was very nervous.

Mobs weren’t smart enough to walk only when someone was making enough noise to cover their footsteps- and Tommy _was_ fairly certain that the ‘pat’ had been a footstep. It couldn’t be Techno or Phil, either. They wouldn’t sneak up on him.

Tommy cast his gaze downwards, to where the cave fell into a ravine that he hadn’t had the chance to get into yet. Then he looked back towards the sound of the footsteps.

He was still for only a few moments before he ferociously struck his pick into the cave wall. Stone crumbled away, granting him more space to fend off whatever was coming at him.

Tommy was right about something coming for him, too. He pulled his hand back to wipe sweat from his brow just as a weight slammed into his back.

Tommy was fast, though, and anticipating an attack of some sort- so he ducked, and the grab glinted off of him. Instinctively Tommy’s hand went to find his garrotte.

He grabbed air and cursed. Of course, he’d left it in his room. Why would he need it for mining? It wasn’t a very good weapon against mobs- it tended to catch and pull closer, which… had freed a zombie’s hand, once, and released some truly vile body fluids that Tommy would rather not recall. It definitely wouldn’t work against a creeper, and skeletons had no flesh to cut into, so Tommy saved it for use against other sentient, rational, and non-combustible creatures. Which meant that right now he was only equipped with a pickaxe.

The figure was rolling to their feet, which spurred Tommy back into action. They seemed human, at first glance, all hidden in the shadows of the cave and with a cloak that cast their face in darkness, so… Tommy had no reason not to grip his pick tighter and hold it up like a readied weapon.

“What do you want with me?” He snapped, and he was greeted with a low, harsh chuckle.

“I was offered quite the prize for your capture and return,” They shrugged, and Tommy could hear the grin in their voice. It added a wider cadence, an upward lilt of smug satisfaction. Smugisfaction. Tommy hated it. “Ideally alive, but if your skull gets bashed in, well. That’s not on me. It’d be easier for the both of us if you just… you know. Didn’t push me towards making an attempt on your life.”

Tommy swung his pick.

His opponent was ready for the retaliation, and the sidestep came easy enough. The figure tutted. “That wasn’t nice.”

Suddenly a sword was coming for Tommy’s head. His pick shot up to deflect it at the last second, the pointed hook of the tool catching the blade. He tried to yank, like he would have with his garrotte, but both materials were smooth so the sword was just pulled back away from him with ease.

The figure was approaching, backing him into a corner. Tommy pulled his pick back like a baseball bat and swung again, his whole body twisting with the force of the strike. 

It struck the approaching figure right in the side of the head, and the resulting scream was _familiar_. A shudder rippled down Tommy’s spine as the side of the other’s head was painted scarlet.

He’d struck them right in the ear, and the person- bounty hunter?- started to fall forward. Tommy’s free hand shot out to push back against their face in an attempt to keep them from collapsing forward onto him. His palm touched fabric instead of skin, but he couldn’t dwell on the peculiarity of that. He just… was panicked and trying to keep this bloody mess of a person from falling on him.

At the push they limply fell back, the movement successfully keeping the form from toppling into him. It wasn’t enough to completely knock them the other way, though, so when they started to fall forward again Tommy raised a knee to his own stomach in a readying kick.

His foot struck the person square in the middle of their chest, and when he kicked, the body toppled lifelessly over the edge and down into the bottom of the ravine.

Breath rattling in his chest, Tommy leaned forward, peering over the edge. There was no person down there, just the dancing flecks of smoke and ashes of a body newly disappeared after death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’ve had the loose idea for tommy to get jumped when he only had a pickaxe a long long time ago LMAO and then techno put one through quackity’s teeth so. it runs in the family i fucken guess
> 
> welcome back + good to see you all again! this probably wasn’t how yall were expectin it to happen but oh well


	31. Helltracks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MORE [FANART](https://twitter.com/phant0mdisc/status/1344821768310185984?s=21)!!! SHOW SOME LOVE

There was a red line in the snow where Tommy’s pick had dragged, the blond too tired and reeling to lift it off the ground. It probably wasn’t smart, leaving a trail back home when he’d just experienced someone who was actively hunting him, but he didn’t care. He could make up for it by tracing a more twisting path back to the cabin. It’d snow soon anyways, Tommy could feel it in his bones, and the tracks should be long covered by the time whoever it was could even consider coming back here.

Phil must have seen the odd, hunched-over way Tommy was approaching through the window, because minutes after he emerged from the tree line the door was thrown open.

Tommy could only grumble as Phil hurriedly strode out towards him, boots crunching into the snow. 

“What happened?”

Philza’s concerned tone still made Tommy flinch, and in an attempt to mask it, he straightened up. He was grabbing desperately for his loud bravado, for the energy and confidence he used to have.

His throat burned.

Tommy hoisted up the pickaxe. The gore glistened darkly against the gray and purples of the netherite, a cool picture that said more about what had happened than the boy ever could. “Aye, someone came at me, he did, screamin’ ‘bout a price on my head or some shit. I showed ‘em what for, I did. Like a- like a fuckin’ pirate, I was, cuttin’ down a bounty hunter! Ohoho, yeah. I’m cool as hell. Put my pick through his ear. Netherite pick, straight inna his ‘ead.” 

Phil spread his wings as Tommy prattled on, offering a steadying hand that the latter took. Thank goodness. If Tommy had resisted, Phil might’ve had a heart attack. He said as such.

“Bloody hell, Toms, you’re gonna give me heart palpatations.” The older man scowled, pulling Tommy into his side as he led the way back to the cabin. “You boys and your picks. I need to make sure you got swords on you more often.”

“The pick worked fine, it did! Just- bam, I swung it and kicked ‘im down into the ravine. Problem solved. Oh, got lotsa iron too, I did. Some gold, some lapis. Mostly iron.”

Tiny flakes of white began their descent as Phil took the pickaxe, leaving it on the porch so it didn’t get blood in his living room. “I’m more worried about you than the ores, but thank you.”

Tommy hummed, dropping down to sit on the couch and kick off his boots while Phil fretted over him. Eventually Tommy got fed up enough to bat his father away.

“I’m not hurt, stop messin’ with me, old man. Not fragile. Go ladle your soups and push around some flowerpots. Call that decorating.”

Phil chuckled dryly. Well, Tommy was quipping at him, so it couldn’t be that bad. He left to go do exactly that, slipping into the kitchen to set out three bowls. Techno was out but that wouldn’t stop Phil from making him a bowl anyways. “And you’re sure you weren’t followed?”

“Ye’h.”

Tommy got quiet at that, pulling a blanket off the back of the couch and swaddling up in it. He could go off to his room to recuperate, but it was somehow more pleasant in here. He could watch the little flurries of snow out the window while existing vaguely in the same space as another person.

It was mesmerizing, watching the snowfall get heavier and heavier as time marched on. He didn’t hear when the door opened and slammed shut, only tuned back into this realm because he caught the word ‘blood’.

“Why’s there a bloody pickaxe on the front porch, Phil?”

Tommy looked over at the hulking form of Technoblade, hunched over from his walk in the almost-blizzard and dusted in a heavy layer of white. Like a farm animal that had been left to idle in the pasture for too long, so frost crawled over them and settled on a living creature the same as it would have done with a plant.

“Ask Tommy.”

Tommy did not want to be asked, thank you very much, so he gripped the blanket and flopped down to pretend to sleep. If Techno looked over in time to see him fall down, he didn’t say anything, just huffed and turned back towards the kitchen.

“Ah, but I think you should explain.”

And Tommy’s mind wandered back to the little flurries of snow, of the rarity of it in the biome in which he’d grown up in. It snowed regardless of season here- sometimes, when it was warmer, Phil said it would hail instead, but that was still ice so it didn’t count. That was something he wasn’t used to. Back home, it would snow only occasionally during winter. More often everything would ice over.

Maybe that was why the snow felt so special. It was forever imprinted in his mind as an unusual occurrence, accompanied with memories of pushing a boat down a frosted hill with Tubbo and trying to jump in at just the right time for maximum momentum. Those days, they were spent packing ice together for a ramp built strong and perfect so they wouldn’t just smash through it; and even if hitting the ground again would  _ hurt _ and jar them, it was okay because the boys would get the brief taste of flight. 

Everything was dusted with white and it was pure and good, and when the chill got just dangerous enough that they had to retreat inside, Wilbur would be waiting inside with a crackling flame going steady, his guitar, and a story.

He wondered if Phil ever told Techno stories, even now that the latter was an adult and established blood god. Tommy hoped so. He missed the tales passed around the fire. 

Even if Philza’s stories could never be as good as Wilbur’s. 

They could never cater to Tommy’s sense of wonderment like illusions of deep sea adventure and sirens and healing fire and woodland fae did. Those stories were Wilbur’s and they had died with him.

Tommy fell asleep thinking about a hand in his own as he pulled an unwitting best friend across a snowy field and towards his brother’s tales.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hints were given in the last chapter as to who it was because we won’t be able to figure out for a while and i’m here to cater to the detectives!
> 
> i confirmed that it wasn’t (for anyone not interested in mild spoilers regarding who did it stop reading here) anyone on the dream team, ponk, or purpled, and the fabric was worn as a mask over/around the eyes to replace glasses. its somebody tommy knows at least a little and (ofc /lh) someone willing to work as a bounty hunter of dubious moral standing in return for monetary gain
> 
> i cant say how many people guessed right because that would give it away but it has been guessed correctly at least once
> 
> but anyways!! time to hop off of the topic of bounty hunters for a bit (cant catch a sinner with a saint <3) as we go back to tommy’s version of everyday life. is that good or bad? who knows you decide


	32. Trophy Rack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw gore and mild body horror
> 
> this was written with the expectation that you’ve already read [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28185099/chapters/69105582#workskin) so if you haven’t been caught up on the raccooninnit backstory i suggest you do that!

The only light came from the glint of teeth.

It was dark, and Tommy was running, but everywhere he looked there were jaws wide and open that were ready to snatch him to crush him in half. Flashing claws and smashing fangs that were all just as cruel and animal as he was.

In the back of his mind, he knew that the only escape was to drop what little shreds of humanity he had. That was a fading part of him, though, one that he’d been clinging onto for so long that letting go was just as terrifying as the thought of being torn to shreds. If he turned from a human, he was scared he wouldn’t be able to turn back.

So he ran. He was surrounded by nothing but death, no briars or underbrush or lush foliage to embrace him and save him from the threat. He was running from something that was not truly pursuing him- there was no need to. The gnashing jaws were everywhere, doglike and wild.

Occasionally, teeth were not the threat. There were flashes where Tommy’s surroundings became something cohesive instead of an abstract dreamscape; all dark hallways and carpeted floors that twisted in an endless labyrinth of death. The hallways were worse than the emptiness.

Without fail, before the halls would fade back into blackness and nothing, he would see at least one trophy rack of antlers mounted on the wall. Sometimes an unidentifiable corpse would be hanging from them, all pale and bloated like something out of a horror movie- and they would be skewered and gored on the points in a way that made Tommy feel ill. It was a wonder he didn’t get sick, actually, and he likely only didn’t because the slightest stutter would result in him being snatched up in those awaiting jaws.

Finally, one of those bodies appeared no longer faceless, and Tommy couldn’t take it anymore. He let fingertips blacken and char like they’d been burnt, and his fingernails- which normally were chewed short- lengthened to onyx claws just as ferocious as the ones ready to maul him. 

His hands found the ground and dug desperately. He felt animal in that moment; wild and primitive just like those who he had scorned for so long. The earth was torn apart beneath his claws, ripped in a way that he knew he couldn’t have done with hands, and suddenly he was falling.

The jaws stopped snapping, gone from existence entirely as the endless vacuum of empty space consumed him.

Tommy awoke with a start, breath coming in panting, heaving gasps as he clutched at the blanket. Unintentionally, his hands found rips, and he panicked.

The fabric had been torn. Tommy looked down and realized he was clutching it with a set of claws instead of fists, and it took everything he had in him not to scream as he willed them away. Then he couldn’t see anything- the room had been dark, after all, and he had only been able to make out his surroundings with the heightened senses of a nocturnal forest creature. 

Oh, whoever’s blanket this was… the owner would be mad that Tommy had ripped it. Hastily he gathered it up with the intention of putting it up in one of his many stashes high in the boughs of the ceiling support beams.

Tentatively, he allowed the claws to return; it was only for the briefest of moments, and only for the night-adapted vision that accompanied them so that he could make out exactly where the nearest of his hoards were and scamper up there to stash the blanket away.

The last thing he remembered was falling asleep on the couch. When he looked around and did not find the main living area, he panicked.

That anxiety was apparently the last straw because a pressure built behind his eyes, a slowly mounting headache that Tommy did not focus on in favor of trying to figure out where the hell he was. 

A closed door, accompanied by a window next to the bed letting in the light of a claw moon. There was nobody else in sight, and a peculiar little dip in the middle of the floor only visible because of his heightened awareness of shadows. A second, smaller closed door, presumably to a closet, and- oh. A jukebox shoved up in the corner. This was Tommy’s room.

He must’ve been moved here while he was asleep. It made sense, but the rationality of the thought did not ease his still riddled-with-panic mind and convince him that he was not on his own. It was entirely possible, Tommy thought, that maybe he had been moved so he wouldn’t notice the faint footsteps of a moving-out. Philza and Techno could have left.

Assuring himself against that meant going to find either of them, though. That thought on its own was heavily argued against before he even _started_ really considering it. If he woke up Phil and Techno, surely they’d be more angry than if they found out what happened to the blanket-

Tommy shoved a hand over his mouth to keep himself quiet as the loneliness struck into him once more. Hastily, he shoved the ripped blanket beneath his bed and crept out of the room with a newly made up mind.

He didn’t let his hands turn back to- well, hands- until after he had found Philza’s door. A stumble in the darkness of the hallway was _not_ worth the risk. Tommy swiped his tongue over his teeth one final time to make sure they weren’t wild and sharp before he dared to open the door.

It was a clear shot to the bed, thankfully, and the dull creaking of the hinges did not wake the room’s inhabitant. On silent feet, Tommy slunk to the edge of the bed, his hands furling into fists around the nestlike mountain of fur and fabrics.

There was a quiet, still unconscious rumble of confusion from his father as Tommy pulled at fabrics until the hint was taken. Phil, still mostly asleep, habitually rolled onto his side to make room for whoever was silently asking for the space.

Tommy crawled into the bed and curled up, legs pulled up to his chest in a way that would allow a tail to be curled around himself had he still been bearing one. A large, protective wing settled over him as he shuffled into the curve of Phil’s body like he had as a child, before he had learned what hate was and still held a blind trust and reverie for the man.

Despite the now stabbing pain behind his eyes, Tommy fell back asleep easily and did not dream again. Not being alone again was enough to grant him a reprieve from his own mind so he could rest easily for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u remember how tommy and wilbur shared a bedroom  
> my mans really needs a bunkbed and a tubbo or somethin
> 
> n e weigh! reminder that people on my twitter sometimes get sneak peaks of chapters + art like [this](https://twitter.com/fishstixx_/status/1345569774991011841?s=21), + im lookin for moots so just hmu and i’ll probably follow back!


	33. Color Theory

Phil woke up to a little bundle of boy curled up against his side like a small, affectionate ferret. It took him a few minutes to process what must have happened.

Suddenly he didn’t want to leave the warmth of his bed. Still, the sun would be rising soon and then Techno would be up and waiting for him, so with a sigh he carefully extracted himself from the sheets. He pushed his fingers through Tommy’s hair, murmured an unheard ‘good morning’, and pulled the blankets back up over the other before he slipped off into the main room.

* * *

Tommy, when he woke up the next morning, found himself moving into the living room despite the splitting pain against his temple.

Philza and Techno were already up and talking. Tommy wasn’t listening. The night prior hadn’t been mentioned so he found little need to pay attention when he felt like the poor bloke that he’d bludgeoned in the cave, only without death as a reprieve from the pain. He would much prefer all the lights to be off, the curtains to be drawn, and the room to be dead silent so he could try to exist around other people without them making everything worse.

Ah, the irony of company worsening his physical pain.

Tommy’s hands were cool to the touch, as they sometimes got when he woke up still trembling from a bad dream, so he had his fingers pressed into his eyes. With any luck, the cool would alleviate some of the pounding.

“So for the ball, we can’t all three go,” Phil was saying, and Tommy did try _a little_ to listen to that. “They’ll be expectin’ all three of us, we can’t go unnoticed like that.”

“So we need someone less recognizable,” Techno supplied. He wasn’t near as emotive as Phil, and his soft voice faded to a hum in the back of Tommy’s conscience with relative ease.

At least until he felt two sets of eyes on him.

“Wha-at?” He hissed out, not looking up from where he was braced on the arm of the couch. “Don’t look at me, I ain’t in the right state of ‘ead to be makin’ decisions like that. Stare at tomorrow me all you want, leave today me alone.”

Philza emitted a thoughtful hum and looked back at the pig hybrid. “So if Tommy goes in to scope it out, we need some sort of way to communicate with him.”

Tommy did not want to listen. He felt like someone had gripped his brain in their hands and was trying to aggressively stuff a towel into his head alongside it. He _had_ to listen, though, just a little, because this was about him.

“One of us can set up outside to watch with a ranged weapon ready to snipe through the windows if anything goes wrong. We will set up the specifics closer to the date, but maybe give him a hand signal or something. That way he’s covered if anything goes wrong and we still have one person free to loot L’Manburg.”

“Gods, I do love when we rob L’Manburg.” Philza cursed quietly, leaning back in the worn old recliner he had by the fireplace. “I’ll cover Tommy at the ball, I can get him out quickly if something happens. You get a city to yourself.”

“Perfect,” Technoblade sneered, and Tommy let himself phase out again.

* * *

Tommy must have fallen asleep, because when he woke up again the house was dark. It was clearly still day- the edges of the drawn curtains were illuminated bright yellow with the still-glaring sunlight- but the lights had been dimmed and life in the cabin seemed to have slowed down. There was no evidence that Technoblade was still inside, but Phil was right where he’d been earlier; leaned back in that old dad chair, a sea of rippling fabric pooled in his lap as he lifted a needle and thread.

“Whatchya doin’?” Tommy wheezed from where he was sprawled out on the couch. He half expected Phil to miss his question, given how quiet and hoarse it had been, but an answer was provided. It was weird and wide, as Phil had pinched the needle between his teeth so he’d have both hands available to adjust the fabrics, but it was an answer nonetheless.

“Sewing. If you’re going to a masquerade ball, you’re gonna have’ta dress up. I can’t make a nice outfit overnight so I’m startin’ now.”

“I don’t remember agreeing, I thought I told you to ask Tomorrow Tommy.” Despite his words, his tone was lighthearted, and he pushed himself up to his forearms to look over with a tired sort of interest. _These people and their fancy clothes._

Still, he wasn’t complaining. He got to be a clean slate for the night, the mysterious stranger like something straight out of one of Wilbur’s cheesy old stories or some shit. People didn’t hate the mysterious stranger because he hadn’t been around long enough to steal or fudge anything up. Plus Tommy would get to be lavish, even if just for a night.

“It seems very black so far,” Tommy commented, nose scrunching up. Even if he _was_ intrigued, he had his innate need to bully and scrutinize it. Bad criticism was how he rolled, pogchamp. “Red’s more my color. Or, you know, even blue and white now, with this- Arctic Anarchist outfit code we got goin’ on.”

“That’s the point.” Philza stopped his sewing to look up at Tommy, mirroring his narrow expression. “They connect red to you, whether they mean to or not. Which means for one night, you’re out of your color comfort zone.”

Tommy looked to the fabric laid out- blacks and whites and greys, with accents of gold laid off to the side- and saw raccoon colors. He played up the exaggeration of his expression. “That’s such a minor fucking detail, nobody’s gonna see a stranger in red and be, like, ‘ah, yeah, Antarctica is here to rock our shit’.”

“That’s exactly what they’ll do, Tommy.” Phil looked down to go back to pushing and pulling that needle. Tommy counted that as a win since he hadn’t been the one to break eye contact.

Phil kept talking like nothing had happened despite his painstaking and suffering loss. “You’re… you have a very specific brand. Loud blond teenage boy with blue eyes, who wears red and talks about women. You’re gonna have to do none of those things.”

“I can’t change my hair color.” Tommy could definitely change his hair color.

(Natural blonde faded easily to mink gray when he shifted to his half-animal form, that being the transition color between his regular hair and the deep stone shade of a raccoon’s pelt. He even got a shock of white dancing a streak along his fringe, but Tommy would refuse to admit that was cool. He hated his hybrid forms, he insisted to himself.)

“It’s already longer than they’re used to you with, your hair, so that’s good. You sound different, the blue in your eyes has mellowed out to grey in the last year, you move and walk differently. Play that last thing up, and with a mask they won’t even recognize you. Presuming you don’t crash in acting all ‘Tommy’. You have a habit of doing that.”

“Don’t worry big man, I’m so good at acting now. You don’t even know.”

Phil scoffed at that. Tommy just rolled over onto his back, unworried about the whole ordeal. L’Manburg wouldn’t recognize him- he was confident in that much. It had simply been too long since his exile, since his whole world turned upside down and Dream got the opportunity to snatch Tommy and meld him more towards his liking. 

In his excitement, Tommy’s thoughts had drifted from his own misery enough so that he wasn’t as focused on the pain behind his eyes. The distraction that the proposition of a new outfit had provided was wearing off now, though, leaving the hurt slamming back into him full force. Satisfied to stop talking about the _(still dumb as hell)_ costume party, Tommy rolled back over so that his nose was pressed into the cushions, and he rested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to clarify: hybrids can shapeshift between four forms- human, half-human, bipedal animal (like techno and fundy’s in-game skins, which are also how they usually present in this fic), and regular animal. yes, this means that tommy could just turn into a whole ass raccoon if he took the time to figure out how to do so.
> 
> whatever you do, dont picture phil carrying around a scrappy little raccoon by the nape of the neck like how one sometimes holds an unruly kitten


	34. The Farmhand

The next day, Phil had shooed Techno and Tommy out of the cabin so he could work in quiet peace. Tommy was not a fan of the idea and the terrible family bonding that seemed to be expected of him.

Tommy said as such.

“I hate you, you know.” He said when Techno passed him a thin log. Tommy set it down on the stump before him and gathered up the hatchet by his feet.

“No, you don’t.” Techno’s voice was monotone, flat. 

“Yes, I do.” Tommy lifted up the small axe with both hands, hoisting it over his head to slam it down into the center of the waiting wood. A few months ago, it would’ve taken many, many attempts for the strike to break through. Though Tommy was still plenty gangly, the labor he’d had to do around the homestead gave him a lean sort of filling-out that he hadn’t had before. Good thing, too, he was tired of it taking five swings to get one piece of firewood chopped.

He let the wood fall off the stump as Techno handed him another log.

“Nah. You would’ve been gone by now if you did, gathered up your things and skittered off into the woods like some kind of terrible possum child.”

That was a little too close for comfort, so Tommy pointed his hatchet at Techno with a scowl. “I’m not a terrible possum child.”

“Sure, sure.” Techno answered, all offhanded and innocent, so Tommy forcefully shoved the log down onto its place on the chopping block and seethed.

“Whatever. At least people don’t eat possums. You’re- you’re just a glorified porkchop, I’m tellin’ you-“

“I get more work done than a porkchop, unlike you.”

“Hey!” Tommy’s voice was a shrill yelp, and he brought the axe down on the log. He wasn’t lucky enough for it to go all the way through, this time, and when he lifted up the axe the log came with it. “I do work, I’m doing work right now.”

“Yeah, okay.” 

Tommy growled as he hammered his log-hatchet combination onto the stump a few times until the hatchet finally broke through and he had two pieces of firewood. “That’s an awful lot of confidence for someone pokin’ at a guy holdin’ a weapon. Forgive me if I slip and stab you in the face.”

There was a brief scowling competition before Tommy was getting yet another log shoved into his hands. Curse these people and their endless wood supply. 

Techno hadn’t said anything after that, so as Tommy went back to chopping he let his mouth run as well.

“You know, I complain, but I do like choppin’ shit. I’d chop you if I got the chance. I’ll chop all of L’Manburg down, too.”

“I do like that idea.” Technoblade put in helpfully.

“Yeah you do, The Blade. I’m comin’ around to the idea of government takeover. I mean, I’ve done that before, but if I do it again, I won’t immediately put in another government. Call that character development. Yeah. I’ll pummel all of L’Manburg.”

“That last part’s a little unrealistic. Can’t _pummel_ the _whole_ population.”

“Fine, I’ll punch the president.”

“If you’re gonna sock him, sock him where he ain’t gonna bleed. Won’t look good on us otherwise. Then I’d count you two even.”

Tommy just snorted and swung his axe again. The wood splintered after only two hits with a satisfying _crack_. “Sure, whatever. Maybe after that we can make up. Got, like, _so_ many repressed emotions though, I do, so I gotta punch him first.”

There passed a beat of silence. “He does miss you, you know.” 

This was not at _all_ something Tommy was expecting from Technoblade during a conversation about violent government takeover, so he floundered for a bit for any words that might come to him. None did, and before he got the opportunity to piece together a single cohesive thought Technoblade was barreling on again. “-That should be enough wood for now, thanks. There’s a, there’s a bag of feed for the turtles up against the stable. Old woven bag, go get it.”

“Woah, woah, wait, I ain’t ready to move onto the topic of turtles just yet!” Tommy burst, but Technoblade’s hands found the back of the former’s shoulders and pushed forward. Tommy let out an indignified yelp at the shove and glowered- but ultimately took the hint. He grumbled and waved his axe around for good measure before he left it embedded in the log and stomped off to go find the bag. 

“Stupid emotionally constipated pig, stupid chores, stupid turtles.” Tommy grumbled, watching the aforementioned pig beginning to gather up the split log halves and stack them by the cabin. He was distracted from his internal cursefest only by the bag that he was supposed to be bringing all the way over to the turtle farm.

The thing was damn heavy, he realized when he grasped both corners of the bag and tried to tug it. So he crouched down, wrapped his arms around and beneath the thing, and hoisted it up.

He nearly fell backwards into the snow. Thankfully his balance was regained before such a thing could happen, and he slung it on his shoulder and began the trek to the farm.

Techno was waiting, leaned up against the fence with a smug look plastered across his snout.

“Took you long enough,” He started, and Tommy shoved the bag into his chest. He did not have near as much trouble holding it as Tommy had, resting it against his knee as he moved it over to one hand. He used his other to produce a knife and rip a tear into the top of the bag. “Now you do it.”

The bag was thrust back into Tommy’s possession- _very much_ against his will, thank you, and Tommy looked up at the elder male. “Huh?”

“You feed them. Just dump it in there.”

So Tommy did, overturning the bag into the pen with great effort. A nasty, slimy green pile of _something_ slid out and hit the ground with a wet plop.

“That’s fuckin’ disgusting,” Tommy hissed. Techno only laughed, so Tommy grabbed the opening of the bag and shoved it over Techno’s head.

Philza nearly stabbed himself with the needle when Tommy flung the cabin door open and bolted inside minutes later. Upon seeing that he was being pursued by a slightly damp pig hybrid and not another bounty hunter, he just shook his head and went back to his craft while the foundation shook with the thrumming, heavy footsteps of two boys chasing each other around the house. This was fine.

Good, even. Things were good.


	35. The Shifter And The Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how are we all doin after the last few days? this au is not really going to parallel canon past this point (jan 5, at the time of me writing this) because i have a Lot of feelings about the characters of the members of sbi and i know u all are here for some good ol family dynamic after the canon festival,,, so buckle up because i refuse to stop dishing it out just because character tommy decided “mmm actually i want to be an only child <3”
> 
> anyway. a bit of a short filler chapter for today before Things Happen

“Goin’ out, be back tonight!”

That was the only warning his family got before Tommy threw the door shut behind him and marched out into the snow.

It was still very early morning. The sun had yet to raise fully over the horizon- which was a good thing, too, because on a clear day like this was shaping up to be, the light would refract off all the snow in a fashion that was nearly blinding.

So he set out on foot towards the edge of the biome, where tundra fell away into ocean and there was a rickety makeshift dock waiting with a few boats for personal use. 

Last time Tommy had left on a cross-sea voyage, he’d gotten a photo of L’Manburg out of it. It was still one of the only things in his room, and Tommy loved it.

Today was a little different, though. He would be going nowhere near Logsted.

He was chancing a trip into the mouth of the monster, so to speak. L’Manburg. It would be the first time he would walk the streets on his own since his exile.

He told himself he wasn’t afraid.

Invisibility potions were lined up for him, twine tied around the bottle’s neck to secure them to the fabric of his belt loops. They hung from his hip, paper wrapped around the glass so they didn’t clink with his movements. He uncorked one as his boat neared the shore.

Downing potions had never been an affair that Tommy had liked. During his exile, though, he’d scarfed down less than savory meals because they were the only scraps he would come by. Taste was no longer that relevant of a factor for him, so the bitter coat over his tongue was not near as distracting as it had once been. The sudden lightheadedness was what he focused on- the scenery before him turned dark as he stood up to get out, and he cursed himself for blacking out like some kind of anemic person. He was not anemic. He was too cool to be anemic. 

Clearly he hadn’t had enough to eat before a potion though, so when he came back to himself he secured the boat safely on shore and then patted his pockets. He did have a few scraps of jerky there waiting, so after cramming them into his mouth he set out again. Having a little more in his stomach for if (when) he needed another potion would make his life significantly easier down the road.

Tommy told himself he wasn’t afraid of L’Manburg. He’d been here enough that he had come to terms with its changes. Still, though, there was no Phil or Techno waiting for him nearby, ready to swoop in and protect him.

In short, he was alone.

Tommy’s arms wound around himself, reminiscent of a hug. The warmth of his hands reminded him that just because he was invisible, he was real, he was here in L’Manburg and he had family waiting for him back home.

His footsteps fell light and silent on the path. The trip to L’Manburg by boat was lengthy and draining, but at least the time taken to get here meant it was afternoon. A lazy afternoon in L’Manburg, by the looks of it too, where Tommy could well see the streets and what had changed.

That was why he was here, after all. The streets had changed drastically in his time gone, but in case he needed to escape he needed to know the layout of the city. 

He only saw anyone milling about a few times. Once, he’d seen Fundy happily fleeing down a back road Tommy hadn’t noticed before. That was useful. Surely the fox would know all the best ways to weasel around the city- and he did. There was a whole slew of little backroads carved out of the city that hadn’t been there before. The second time that Tommy saw someone was as he emerged from one of those alleys.

He only saw a puff of white wool before he ducked back behind the nearest building, snatching a potion from his belt and downing it unflinchingly. Just in case. The other person just skipped past the niche, rambling to the seemingly empty air about lavish clothes and fancy cakes.

Tommy watched them disappear into one of the buildings lining the walkway, blinking. He shook his head quickly and turned to stalk the opposite direction. He wasn’t here to shop or to watch other people do so- he was here for the sole purpose of imprinting these streets into his mind. 

Many of the buildings were pleasant looking, easy on the eyes and crafted with skilled hands. The skies however were filled with scrawling billboards, messy signs, and towers. Something about that last thing made his stomach drop down into his feet and so he kept his gaze level to the ground.

The trip was largely uneventful, in all honesty. He did what he came to do and succeeded in it. The ball crept nearer with every passing day and Tommy could do nothing but plan his little escape routes and wait for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stay safe friends


	36. Let’s Make A Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from the song how ‘bout a dance !

Tubbo was nervous.

For good reason, too. He genuinely just wanted a nice little festival where he could see Tommy again- but that was never how things went for him. Surely it’d get crashed, someone would be taken hostage, there would be an explosion or murder or maybe both-

No, he couldn’t think like that. Nervously, Tubbo reached to adjust the neck of his tie before realizing he wasn’t dressed up in a suit. Still in need of something to grab and fidget with, he rolled up the sleeves of his green button-up instead.

Well, the hall wouldn’t decorate itself.

It was a wonderfully fancy place, save for the shitty fold-out tables lining the far wall for food and drinks. A tablecloth had been tossed over the thing in a halfhearted effort to hide how cheap it was. Hopefully nobody would get thrown into them, there was no way they’d be able to handle any sort of impact.

Tubbo really could not escape his anticipation of the worst.

Tubbo hefted up the punch bowl, heavy and cumbersome despite being empty. He had to put his whole body into lifting and carrying it, and by the time he got it over to the table he nearly dropped it. The table rattled and thumped as he set the glass down and adjusted it so it was centered and not wrinkling any of the tablecloth fabric.

He had suggested streamers, decorative pieces of colored paper hung up on the walls and ceiling. It was an idea quickly shut down. Too childish, he’d been told, for a fancy ball. Tubbo didn’t see why it mattered that the party was supposed to be fancy- it was a celebration, meant to be happy and fun, and childish was fun. 

And so he’d snuck a replacement, long cuts of thin but winding golden fabric that was too nice to be taken down behind his back while still being colorful and fun. He set to stringing it along the edge of the stage, upside down arcs of sunshine cloth that added some warmth to the room.

The venue was beautiful, and even more so with the pops of color Tubbo was gradually sneaking in. It was a wide open place with (imitation) marble floors and a roof high enough to touch the sky. Windows were bountiful, stretching from floor to ceiling and letting in the warm afternoon light. The windows were Tubbo’s favorite part- especially the ones with stained glass murals depicting scenes of triumph and victory.

He brushed his hands off on his pants as he tied the end of the fabric to the corner of the stage and set onto the next part. There were lanterns, folded and unassembled, laying on the corner of the stage waiting to be strung up.

Most of them were neutral browns and grays, but he’d snuck a couple crimson ones into the pile. Just a few- but still enough to make him smile faintly as he unfolded the paper.

He was set arranging them along the room, waiting for someone taller than him to come by to hang them in their places. Ranboo wouldn’t be lighting the lanterns until just before the ball, to reduce the risk of them being damaged or something similar. Still.

It was good, having something idling to do with his hands. The monotony of it all allowed for him to just… stop thinking, stop fretting over the what-ifs and just prepare. Decorate. Tubbo liked to decorate. 

Perhaps that was why he didn’t hear the footsteps approaching, despite the echo of a room that was as big as this and almost empty. He didn’t know who it was until orange flitted across the corner of his vision and he looked up.

Fundy was there, sharp teeth bared in a face-splitting beam that was wide enough to show a hint of gums. Tubbo offered him a smile, still warm and happy despite being significantly more toned down. 

Fundy was dressed up in his masquerade outfit; more on the simple side, mostly, just a suit and an unassuming mask that looked a little stolen. Probably because it had been made for a human’s face, not a fox’s, and the bevel meant for a nose rested oddly over Fundy’s muzzle. Still, that didn’t really matter, because the hybrid had a _cape_ that pooled towards the floor elegantly and made the outfit feel more elaborate than it was. Fundy had either side of it gripped in his hands, flapping it at Tubbo in a way that was clearly fishing for compliments.

So Tubbo smiled and gave Fundy what was wanted of him.

“Looks nice, man! You come here just to show me?”

“Wanted to make sure everything was in order so I tried it on early. Then came by to see what you had set up.”

Tubbo watched Fundy’s gaze fix on the stage, but nothing was said about his not-streamers. Victory. “I gotta light the lanterns, which will be done tomorrow, and to set out the food. Also a tomorrow thing. Just a few more lanterns to unfold and lay out. Then I’m good for the night.”

“I reckon we could do that together, get ‘em knocked out quicker.” Fundy said, slow and deliberate and only mentioned after he decided that he wouldn’t be put out for more than a few seconds. 

Tubbo nodded, sliding half of the handful over to his friend. “Thanks, Fundy. You excited?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? Free food.”

Tubbo hummed and nodded. The appeal of that was really what he was banking on. “Good. It’ll be a pain in the ass to clean up though, probably.”

The mask did not hide enough of Fundy’s expression- Tubbo could clearly tell that the other definitely wasn’t planning on helping with that. There was a dry chuckle and a nod, and then the subject was unsubtly shifted.

“Yeah. Anyway. We gonna have, like, a band or somethin’?”

“Actually, yes. I think once we get people in here it’ll be less echo-ey too, it’ll be nice. Hopefully not boring.”

“Nah, it won’t be boring. The punch will get spiked within the first fifteen minutes.”

“Shut up, shut up!” Tubbo laughed and shoved at Fundy’s shoulder, who popped up the last lantern and grinned.

“I only speak the truth!” Paws raised in mock surrender and Tubbo rolled his eyes, a grin playing out across his face as he gathered up the decorations.

“Whatever, man. See you tomorrow evening.”

“Tomorrow evening.” Fundy nodded, and with a salute he left. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no tommy this chapter but i saw a [tiktok](https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMJ7j57GF/) that made me think of him in this au so here you go it’s your tommy content from me for today xoxo


	37. One Boy Did Rise

Tommy’s eyes were shut as he set cross-legged on the floor, another’s fingers combing through his hair. It was Phil, working out the tangles before he would fix Tommy’s hair for him in preparation of the ball.

It was a pleasant bonding experience, the gentle tug of hands against his scalp reminding Tommy of how much he had missed the feeling of another’s human touch. Phil was accustomed to styling longer hair in a way that Tommy was not, having dealt with both his and Techno’s for years now.

Tommy was the one that had brought up the idea to Phil- who agreed happily with the idea of spending time with his boy before sending him off to a party that, statistically, was very likely to go wrong.

That didn’t matter, though. It was the morning before the ball, which would begin just as the sun began to descend. After that he would be on his own in a sea of people.

“And you’re sure you know a way to fix your hair color before the ball? And you don’t just want to let me dye it?” Phil asked again, tone quiet to preserve the gentle mood of the moment. Tommy started to shake his head before remembering what Phil was doing.

“I’m sure. Just wait, old man, you take up your spot outside the venue and I’ll make the finishing touches. You won’t even recognize me.”

“That’s not a great thing, considering I’m supposed to be covering you.”

“That’s what the hand signals are for.”

Phil hummed and began parting Tommy’s hair, selecting a strand above his left ear and beginning to part it further into three segments for a braid. “I suppose so.”

Tommy was excited, albeit nervous. The cut across his throat had healed, and though there was a pale scar in its place, he had a relatively simple fix for that. It laid among his outfit, already folded and placed in a boat for him.

Phil passed the small braid for Tommy to hold while he began to repeat what he had done, this time to a strand over his other ear. Tommy bowed his head and spoke. “Where’s Techno?”

“Sharpening his tools, preparing potions in case anything goes wrong. He left a box for you in your boat of weapons since your wire will get recognized too quick as being yours.”

Tommy frowned but nodded. Phil finished that second braid and took the first from Tommy, pulling them back behind his head and together to meet in the middle. Tommy could feel the rest of his hair being gathered for a ponytail, but before it was tied off something poked against the side of his temple.

“What was that?” Tommy tried to turn and look, but Phil lightly tapped his face to remind him to turn forward again.

“Wove a feather in. For good luck.”

Tommy blinked and raised a hand to feel for it. It was hidden among the streaks of blonde, but he could find the down when he was looking for it. He smiled.

“Thanks, Dad.”

Phil smiled, all wide and proud, as Tommy gathered up his things and got up to leave.

* * *

The boat trip to L’Manburg was dreary. The skies were gray and cold, and Tommy had to fight the current more than usual. Still, he had a mission, and he pulled up on the shores without taking any longer than he normally did.

After collecting his things- a neatly folded pile of clothes and the suitcase-looking box Phil had told him of- he set off into the forest to find a suitable cave to change in. There wasn’t really one, so he settled for a particularly deep creeper hole that he roofed over and placed a torch in.

He set his clothes down on top of the suitcase so they wouldn’t come into contact with the dirt and grit of the stone floor. Tommy had made his own mask, much like how he had made his own primary weapon, and it was special because of it.

Before the mask came the actual clothes, though. A white button-up to begin with, then that vest he’d spent hours watching Phil make. Tommy gently brushed his fingers over the black fabric before tracing over the elaborate golden swirls and twists. A moment later, he pulled it on and buttoned it up.

He’d already been wearing the pants he needed, simple and black. The boots too- also black, the leather polished to look nice but with heavy soles that made them functional as artillery boots. Should he have to run. 

Tommy took up the white fabric and fixed it around his neck as a collar, tucking the puff of white into the neck of his vest and letting the frills spill out just slightly. Then the gloves (so he wouldn’t have to look at his hands for the inevitable), and after that the weird cape thing Phil had made. Reminiscent of his Arctic Commune outfit, just… black, and nicer and with shoulder pads. Tommy liked the shoulder pads.

He was simultaneously dreading and excitedly anticipating the next part. He fixed his silver gaze on his hands and focused, watching as the skin darkened and shifted and melded at his will. Suddenly he had claws for fingers.

Quickly he shoved on his gloves so he didn’t have to look.

His mask, though. It was metal, and it scraped against the stone as Tommy lifted it up. Welded, clean with his experience of forging weapons and tracks and other metalwork, was a mask that would work to hide more of his face than a typical masquerade mask.

It was a patchwork of light and dark metals, the base silver having a mask of its own of black stained steel carved decoratively.

It was a raccoon mask. Ha, ha.

Tommy turned the metal to see himself in the reflection. The vision was warped, but he was without a mirror so it would have to do.

His hair had turned mink gray following his earlier shift, save for that peculiar little streak of white along the middle that traced over the crown of his head and disappeared into the ponytail. His freckles looked bleached and stood out harshly against the dark gray natural mask around his eyes. Two little fluffy raccoon ears had replaced his human set.

Quickly, Tommy turned the masquerade mask around and fixed the strap to secure it to his face. Now he just had to tuck his weapons- two daggers, glistening with enchantments, one of netherite and one of diamond- into the miscellaneous sheathes built into his outfit. And he was set.

L’Manburg had a gray-eyed storm on the horizon.


	38. Shrimp, Heaven, Now

“I don’t have any weapons.”

The bouncer at the door gave him a sideways, skeptical look at the claim. Tommy just grinned wolfishly, baring his sharp teeth in a thinly veiled threat.

“I still have to do a quick search. It’s custom, we don’t want any fights tonight.”

Tommy raised his arms and allowed himself to be patted down. Of course the diamond dagger tucked beneath his coat was found, and the bouncer let it clatter to the ground with an unimpressed look.

“Must have forgotten that one.” Tommy answered innocently, his ear flicking. He could pick up the distant sounds of a party on the other side of those looming double doors.

“Sure.” The bouncer stepped back, motioning for Tommy to go ahead and enter. “It will be up front in the weapons pile for you to recollect when you leave.”

“Thank you, sir.” Tommy mimed a hat tip and stepped past to push open the doors.

They hadn’t found the netherite blade still hidden tucked away in his boot.

Heavily pleased with himself, Tommy entered the ballroom. It was gorgeous, to say the least- wide open, with people already dancing to the music coming from the stage and talking amongst themselves. The room was bathed in a soft orange glow, gentle lighting provided by lanterns hung along the wall and strung from the ceiling.

Tommy was a stranger in a crowd of friends and acquaintances. He played up his confidence as he strode across the room, making his way to the snack table. Handfuls of grapes found their way into his pockets during the brief intervals where people weren’t looking at him.

He wondered if he was being judged. Not for the food stealing- he was just a little too sneaky for that, too perceptive to already be caught swiping unnecessary amounts of snacks- but for being a hybrid and outwardly showing it. He hoped not. Plenty of L’Manburg showed hybrid traits. By all logic, he should be fine.

He still nearly jumped out of his skin when Fundy slid up to him, all grinning and eager and shoving his paw out to shake.

Fundy immediately set to chattering happily as Tommy took his paw and shook it.

“Hello! I’m Fundy. You’re new around here, yeah? So is Ranboo, sort of, if you squint. We don’t get many new folk around here, what’s your name?”

“You talk a lot,” Tommy commented with the intention of buying himself time. He played up the hoarseness of his tone as well, did his best to mimic Techno’s monotonous cadence to mask his own rather unique tone. Techno was a good model. Techno was plain, Techno was more or less a blank slate.

Tommy could give Fundy the name Theseus, which was what immediately came to mind. That was too stupid though, too unique and noticeable, so instead he racked his mind for any sort of name that did not start with a T and would suffice as a title. Fundy started talking again.

“Oh, ha, ha. I suppose so. There just aren’t many animal hybrids around L’Manburg that know how to shift, got a little ahead of myself. Excitement. _Can_ you shift?”

“I’m a little rusty, but yes.” Rusty, that could be a name. Actually, no. That was stupid. Rusty was a country bumpkin name. Tommy was no country bumpkin. 

Fundy had stars in his eyes, too euphoric to notice that Tommy still had not provided an answer to who he was. “Could you show me?”

“After the festival, sure.” Tommy forced out a laugh. Wilbur hadn’t taught Fundy? ...No, actually, that made sense. In that twisted way of Wilbur’s, of course.

“Oh! Thank you! Thank you, really. It’s a little embarrassing sometimes, being as old as I am and not having it under control, you know?”

“Mhmm,” Tommy hummed. He was not truly paying attention, still racking his mind for names. 

“And who is it again that I owe my thanks to?”

What did Tommy do? He dug, and listened, and climbed, and-

“Runner,” He answered, ears perking forward. _What a stupid name._ Not like there was any topping Tommy though, so it would have to do for the night.

“Runner, that’s a funny name. You look like more of a Runt to me. Anyways.” Fundy rocked back on his heels, hands twisting behind his back. “I’ll see you after the festival then. I’ll stick around to help clean up a little, we can meet up then.”

“Sure thing, Fundy.” Tommy nodded, already being distracted once more by the snack table next to him. He turned and looked and got very excited at the little plate of breaded shrimp.

When he remembered that he had been in a conversation, he turned and looked just in time to see Fundy disappearing back into the crowd. Score, shrimp time. 

He had a shrimp tail sticking out of his mouth, holding it there between his teeth as he ladled punch into a cup for himself. If he was going to be here, he might as well treat himself before he inevitably had to go scour for riches and make sure that his ass wouldn’t be getting arrested. 

Once he had swallowed the prawn, Tommy started tracing a meandering trail across the ballroom and towards the stairs. There was a second level, a balcony overlooking the dance floor, connected to the main area by two ornate staircases. That, supposedly, was where the showcases were.

Most people were down by the stage, so it had to be safe to go up and take a little peek around. Tommy chugged a relatively large portion of his drink so that it would not spill when he bounded up the stairs- which he took two at a time, paws itching to grab and steal and hide.

There were significantly more walls up on the second level, paintings and sculptures that Tommy didn’t care for hung up behind red velvet rope. Tucked away in the back of the upper area were glass display cases of jewels.

No music discs, but this would definitely do. Tommy kept his ears pricked for any sign of approaching footsteps as he reached into the side of his boot.

Tucked away in the little inlaid pocket was a compass. Not the navigation kind (though Tommy still had ‘Your Tubbo’, it was safely hidden in his ender chest)- but it was much more like the art tool made to draw circles. Just instead of a needle and graphite, it had a suction cup on one point and a tiny specialized blade on the other.

Tommy looked over his shoulder one last time to make sure nobody was nearby before he attached the thing to a display case and twisted. Near silently, a circular cut in the glass was drawn, and Tommy pulled the tool back without pushing in the now-freed glass.

The hole had been made but the glass hadn’t been removed, so at first glance the case still looked normal. Tommy tucked away the compass and leapt away from the gems; he would come back later, right before leaving, so that nobody noticed prized possessions going missing so early. It would be easy to swipe the valuables and run when he needed to, though, now that he’d breached the security with such ease. L’Manburg seemed to keep forgetting that Tommy and the rest of the Arctic Commune were a little more unconventional with the things that they crafted.

Still- that didn’t matter. He should have at least an hour to kill by actually having fun before he was on the run again.

Tommy didn’t much care for art, so he slid back down the stairs and into the dancing crowd. This was a party, and like hell if he wasn’t going to treat it like one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to anyone seeing this chapter within about a day of it being posted- check out this [poll](https://twitter.com/fishstixx_/status/1348115300424830977?s=21) about the next au i’ll write! i am also willing to talk about either of these i have So Many ideas


	39. The Snow Shock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the chapter where the traumatized theatre kids passive aggressively do a funny little dance

Word of the new stranger had traveled to Tubbo relatively quickly. Of course, he’d been excited- _Tommy, Tommy, Tommy._ Shortly after he’d heard tell, though, Fundy came prancing up to him with a grin so aggressively wide that Tubbo wondered how he kept it up.

“The new person’s a hybrid!” Fundy chirped, still beaming, and Tubbo’s heart dropped.

* * *

Tommy wasn't here.

They were expecting a group of three strangers, or at least two since Phil sometimes laid low and watched from the sidelines. There was only the one unidentified person, however, and a glance at them told Tubbo that this was not Tommy.

Tubbo was hovering in the back of the ballroom, watching the stranger- _Runner_ , Fundy had informed him- stiffly. Runner was up front leaned against the stage, head in his hands and elbows rested on the wood platform as he looked up at the playing band.

Runner was not Tommy. Runner’s hair was an odd, warm gray, with a shock of snow white blazing a trail along the top of his head. Runner’s hair was also long enough for a ponytail- something Tubbo was convinced that Tommy would never do, remembering a childhood of teasing Technoblade and Phil behind their backs. 

Above all, Runner was very obviously not human. It was not something that could be faked, with a tail flicking in beat along to the music and ears constantly moving. He was demonstrating awareness of the rest of the ballroom despite the focus on one area.

The last time that Tommy had been seen, he had looked like… well, Tommy. Tubbo himself didn’t know how to shift, nor truly did Fundy, and he didn’t think that _Tommy_ could have learned something like that in the time between presenting and the last festival. So the obvious conclusion was that this was a different character entirely.

Still, Tubbo was nervous to go talk to Runner. A close-up interaction would confirm Tubbo’s fears that his best friend had not shown.

The decision was made for him, though. Tubbo murmured a greeting to a passing Ranboo, and somehow Runner managed to pick up the presence of a new voice above all the excitement of a ball. The raccoon hybrid looked up, turned, and gave Tubbo a scheming grin before setting off towards him.

Tubbo looked to the side, desperately hoping for somewhere to escape to. Runner appeared in front of him impossibly quick, having woven through a dancing crowd in what surely was record time. Suddenly Tubbo was trapped.

“Hello, Mister President.”

This was not Tommy.

Runner had a hoarse, quiet voice, different from anything Tommy _could_ ever or _would_ ever sound like. His eyes were gray, much like most the rest of him, and past the holes in the mask for eyes Tubbo could see a natural raccoon’s mask against the skin and bleach white freckles. Interesting.

“Hello,” Tubbo greeted, mustering up his best diplomatic smile and extending a hooved hand to shake. Runner took it in a loose grip and shook.

“I’m Runner.” The other hybrid continued, those puffy little raccoon ears angled right towards him. Tubbo swallowed, feeling very much like a sheep left to the wolves.

“So I’ve heard. How long have you been around?”

“Not very long, just a few hours.” Runner’s hands fell to his side and found the edge of his coat, grabbing and twisting almost nervously. No, this was not Tommy. 

“Well, L’Manburg welcomes you.” Tubbo offered a shallow bow and was prepared to make his escape before the music shifted to a more energetic swing. Runner’s grin widened, flashing sharp fangs, and suddenly Tubbo was being dragged out to the dance floor.

“Come on, spare a dance for the new guy. Tell me about your country.”

Tubbo couldn’t dance. Runner apparently could, though, and Tubbo was more focused on mimicking the taps and twists of Runner’s boots than the conversation. His concentration was broken by Runner cuffing him over the side of the head.

“Huh?” He asked, and Runner barked a scratchy laugh. 

“I asked you where you’re from.”

“Oh. Here.” Tubbo, unable to focus on the movement of both foot and mouth, misstepped onto Runner’s boot. He didn’t seem to mind and continued.

“That’s nice, bein’ the leader of your homeland.”

“I never much wanted to lead.”

“Then leave.” Everything about Runner seemed offputting- he seemed airy, uncaring while simultaneously caring so much, and Tubbo couldn’t quite figure out whether he was skittish or confident. Runner shot a scouting glance behind them and Tubbo decided on anxious.

“Oh, I can’t leave. The country will go to sh- to crap.”

“Leave anyway.” Runner repeated, looking back at Tubbo with a sharp and narrow grin. “If you don’t like it.”

Suddenly their dance turned a little more hostile, and when Tubbo twisted around Runner he ‘accidentally’ checked the latter’s shoulder. “I told you I can’t.”

Runner’s eyes flashed with competition, with the promise of a challenge. He raised an arm, and so did Tubbo, and they leaned their wrists against each other’s. Their waltz, now aggressively formal, began tracing looping circles back away from the stage and towards the tables.

“Your ship’s sinking.” Runner said. “Go down with it.”

Suddenly Tubbo was being spun and left dizzy while the other leapt up onto one of the nearby circular tables with agility paralleling that of a cat. 

“Hey!” Tubbo gasped, canting forward and only barely managing to brace himself on the edge of his table. The only thing in his line of vision were Runner’s boots. “You can’t just- show up to a government occasion, and tell the government to fuck off.”

“Why not?” Runner’s face appeared in front of him, the raccoon hybrid’s arms folded behind his back as he bent over to look at Tubbo. One leg was crossed over the other at the ankle, the heel of that foot being the only point of contact with the platform that Runner was stood on. Tubbo was almost impressed with the show of balance. Almost.

“Because L’Manburg is my home.” Tubbo growled. Runner extended a hand and he took it, hauling himself up onto the table and holding onto it. This was a competition now.

“Home is the people, not the land.” Runner pointed out. Tubbo chose to focus on the dance instead of the stranger’s words. Both boys were leaned far backwards, kept from falling only by each other’s hand connecting them, and Runner led the pattern to which they kicked and tapped and danced.

There was apparently a time limit to which Tubbo was supposed to answer. He had been pinching his bottom lip between his teeth in focus, but after a few beats of no response, Runner had let go and Tubbo was left to collapse backwards off the table.

Tubbo unintentionally bit down during the fall and was left reeling on the ground while Runner laughed at him. His mouth tasted like metal.

He looked up from where he’d been left in a heap, ears back and face flushing in embarrassment. Okay, maybe Runner’s balance was a _little_ impressive.

“You’re terrible at this.” Runner’s smug response came as Tubbo pushed himself back up, everything hurting from his little tumble. The president could only glower.

“You’re terrible in general.” Tubbo grumbled, and a hand was extended to him in offer of a rematch. He was skeptical to take it, at first, but one look at Runner’s pointed fangs and suddenly he was being whisked back to the dance floor.

Runner leaned in close and Tubbo tried not to shake. This was dangerous, Runner was dangerous.

“You don’t know anything about terrible yet.”

“I think I do.”

“Not my kind of terrible.” 

Suddenly the music became a little calmer, and the room was a little safer. Runner was looking at him expectantly. Tubbo spoke.

“Care to elaborate?”

“I stabbed a guy in the ear once.” Runner shrugged nonchalantly, looking skywards, and if Tubbo hadn’t weathered wars he would have paled. “Netherite pick, right in his fucking ear.”

“That doesn’t seem very efficient.”

“ _Oh_ , but it was damn resourceful, I’m tellin’ you.”

“I think we should try to… minimize bloodshed.” Tubbo looked back to his feet under the guise of making sure his steps were in the correct order.

“No fight, good or bad, is won without blood. I know that better than most.” Runner was looking at him, Tubbo could feel it. Stiffly, though, he removed himself from Runner.

“I gave you your dance. Enjoy the rest of the ball.” Tubbo answered, mouth drawn in a thin line and face darkening.

Runner still looked like he’d won. He smiled at Tubbo, gave him a formal bow, and then disappeared off into the crowd.

Tubbo was alone once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gently extends hand in a silent request for ur guys’ non-raccooninnit tommy hybrid headcanons*
> 
> anyways! the support on this fic has been insane, so as a little reward for you guys and the love you’ve given, here’s my [spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6cFwz1Ic1eEqKJC1AFPXLr?si=RoeJ1sTsSEm2HcQ5kTi8_Q) for this version of masquerade!tommy ! could be a little spoiler-ey if you go into it with a detective’s mindset, but generally speaking yall should be fine  
> (a couple songs have slight romantic undertones. there are no ships in this fic and never will be, those songs are meant to be interpreted strictly platonically in the context of the playlist ^^ don’t ship minors, dont ship real people, and dont ship the characters of cc’s if they dont express that they’re comfortable with it. thats my take for the day, see you guys next chapter!)
> 
> on a FINAL NOTE im gonna be looking at requests for who you guys want tommy to interact with next chapter


	40. Unknowable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FANART TIME!!!  
> [PUFFYCHU](https://twitter.com/froggie_chu/status/1345868401873305600?s=21) WITH A NIKI LIKE  
> [RACCOONINNIT](https://twitter.com/xkirimisu/status/1348631997212712962?s=21) !!!

Tommy was, for lack of a better word, smug. Impossibly so.

It felt _good_ , in a twisted way, to leave Tubbo in the dust. Abandon him in the same way that had been done to him. Of course, there were no stakes to the situation- Tubbo had fallen off a table, but that was the worst of it, so Tommy was spared any of the guilt.

He would never have his best friend removed from his life, abandoned to the claws of Dream and nobody else for a full year until the shambles of family realized just how wrong things were. Tommy wouldn’t have done that to any of L’Manburg, for that matter. He would have waged wars for his brothers in arms. But Tubbo hadn’t done the same for him, and Tommy had come to quite like expressing his anger in quiet and petty ways.

He pulled a small fistful of grapes from his pockets and shoved them in his mouth. Ah, tonight was good. _So_ good.

He could talk to people again. It was easier, with a mask and a disguise to hide behind. Maybe that was why Dream wore his.

Tommy’s gaze flitted over the room, people dancing to the music and switching partners with little regard to who they were paired with. It was nice. A display of community and camaraderie.

Tommy was a part of it, but he also wasn’t. Not the real him, at least. He was a stranger in the midst of a crowd he thought of as friends. Unintentionally, his tail dropped; Tommy didn’t notice until he felt the touch of the cold floor.

Well, that certainly wasn’t something he had accounted for. The tail and ears made him easier to read, an extra external show of how he was feeling. He’d have to reinforce his walls.

Tommy squared his shoulders back and set off through the crowd in search of another loner he could trap into conversation like he had with Tubbo. He only got almost-stepped-on once, when his weaseling through the crowd cut across the path of a waltzing Puffy and Niki. The pair just laughed it off and moved back away from a flushed Tommy.

He was a little more careful after that. He emerged on the other side of the crowd with no more mishaps and nearly bumped into Eret.

“Hello, Newbie,” Tommy was greeted, and the hybrid sidled up to Eret with a pleased simper.

“Name’s Runner.” It was habit enough by now, ‘introducing’ himself to people he’d known a lifetime ago, and Tommy extended a gloved paw to shake. Eret complied.

Their mask was interesting, going across their eyes in a way reminiscent of- of whoever Tommy had encountered in the cave. The voice felt different from whoever that had been, though- deeper, so Tommy’s suspicions were squashed about as quickly as they arose. Maybe some people were just weird about their faces. There was certainly more than one character who hid their eyes.

“Eret.”

The other didn’t seem too keen on entertaining Tommy the way that Tubbo had, so he’d have to work a little harder. That was fine, Tommy was good at getting reactions out of people.

“Sorry for asking,” Tommy began, picking what he said carefully. He had to sound different than he normally did, smarter, and it took a lot of effort not to enunciate each syllable as he employed a larger and more unfamiliar word. “In case it’s insensitive to bring up my quandary to you. But I was looking into the country before I came here, research an’ stuff, and that name was in the anthem- being specifically excluded from the country. I thought the ball was only for L’Manburg.”

Eret stiffened before they spoke. “And their allies.”

“‘Fuck Eret’ doesn’t seem like they thought you very amicable.”

“Things have changed.”

Tommy hummed thoughtfully, taking note of Eret’s newly discomforted posture and rigid stance. _Good_. Fuck Eret, pogchamp.

“That’s good for you, then!” Tommy said anyway, clapping his paws together and backing off in the vague direction of the staircase. “It was a pleasure meeting you!”

Tommy didn’t miss the way they relaxed slightly as he retreated, letting out a puff of air. “Yeah, a pleasure.”

Tommy treated himself to another fistful of grapes as he trotted away. He only paused as he passed the window, pressing two fingers against the glass in a way that seemed plenty natural at first glance, while still being an uncommon enough move that nobody else hopefully would do it. For Phil.

Then he took off up the stairs, trying to make his pace seem much more casual than he felt.

Ranboo was up there, milling about the art pieces. Tommy barely stifled a snicker at the sight.

“Heya!” He chirped, and this time his laughter did not get staunched as the other hybrid nearly leapt out of his own skin at the surprise. Ranboo quickly tried to recollect himself as Tommy jabbed an extended hand out to shake.

Ranboo took it in a cold, shaky hand and shook it. “Oh, you’re the new guy. I’m Ranboo.”

“Runner.” Tommy grinned, and Ranboo just blinked.

“Well, welcome. We don’t see many hybrids around here. Or people in general, it really is a pretty small community.”

“I don’t think there’s any more hybrids than there were, even with me being here.”

Oh, Tommy was taking a risk now, and Ranboo knew it. Tommy _knew_ Ranboo knew it, too, seeing the way the other’s eyes flashed and he straightened up. The air was a little calmer, a little friendlier, and Tommy rocked back on his heels with a grin.

“Maybe not.” Ranboo agreed, and Tommy relaxed a little. This was going too well.

“I wasn’t here.” Tommy was being cryptic now, unnecessarily so, just to make sure Ranboo knew what Tommy wanted him to know. The enderman hybrid nodded and backed off towards the stairs.

“You weren’t here. I wasn’t, either.”

Tommy gave Ranboo a salute just as the other disappeared down the steps.

Now he was free to do what he came up here to. Tommy skipped down the corridors, past the art exhibits and paintings, to that display case teeming with gems that he’d broken into earlier. He ran his fingers over the glass until he found that hairline seam, barely visible, and pushed.

The circle of glass gave way, falling into the exhibit with a quiet clatter before Tommy could catch it. He had to move fast.

He stuck his arm fully in the display case, up to his shoulder so that his face was pressed sideways against the glass. Tommy grabbed, pulling back whatever he could get his paws on and shoving them into his myriad of pockets.

Pearls, golden chains, necklaces, earrings, gemstones- anything and everything. Tommy grabbed and Tommy hoarded.

Footsteps approached, sounding loud as they rose up the hard material of the stairs. Tommy scattered, clutching his armful of stolen valuables and diving into the shadows.

Tommy took refuge behind a marble statue, smothering pleased chitters and coos as he arranged his winnings so that they were hidden in the fabric of the outfit. There was a gasp from behind him, someone off over by the display case, and Tommy sneered.

“Surely not.”

Tommy could have picked out Tubbo’s voice from the other side of the ballroom, nevermind a few feet away up in the otherwise empty art loft. This was _too_ good.

Tubbo was emotionally perceptive, not literally observant, he could hide out here until Tubbo ran off to go tell someone and then make his escape.

His plan was interrupted by a bonechilling _boom_ from somewhere that felt nearby and far away all at once, and it echoed in his ears like it had back in Logstedshire, back in Old L’Manburg. The ground shifted beneath him, rumbling and trembling like a rolling thunder, and Tubbo yelled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tommy is [diamond jack](https://youtu.be/mRpiBvwKX6c)


	41. Dogfight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the mood for this chapter is blackout from in the heights
> 
> anyways tommy in this au is nothing short of feral and if you thought he was an animal before you got a big storm comin
> 
> a [shitpost](https://twitter.com/fishstixx_/status/1348839330261905409?s=21) i made in like two minutes

Tommy fell forward, breath hitching as fear impaled him and embedded deep in his chest like a spire of ice. Suddenly he felt cold, too cold, and he scrabbled forward to bolt.

“Runner!” Tubbo shrieked, accusatory, and Tommy just clutched the other boy’s wrist in an iron grip and dragged him along as he fled down the stairs.

The windows downstairs had cracks drawing a complex series of cobwebs along them. They hadn’t yet shattered, but they looked one blow away from it, and a good portion of the wall was crumbling. The whole room was already nearly entirely cleared of people following the explosion.

Tubbo and Tommy had been handed the disadvantage of being up a set of stairs, in a loft, on the opposite side of the room from the entrance. Tommy still had not let go of Tubbo, hauling the other tripping down the stairs as the last of their friends fled the room without them.

Tubbo finally managed to rip himself away from Runner, face alight with rage. It wasn’t the dark, idle anger Tommy had seen when he’d gotten exiled- no, this was a fire, rising and filling the room with choking smoke. They needed to get out.

“What did you do!” Tubbo roared, hands curling into fists at his side.

“Me?” Tommy burst, shocked. “Oh, it’s always _me_ , innit? I didn’t _do_ anything!”

“What the hell do you- of course this was you! Who else would-“

The doors slammed shut. Tommy’s heart dropped down to his feet. 

Before Tubbo could start yelling at him again, he made a desperate bolt for the doors. He threw himself against them and pounded, the sound of his hits rattling in his head and suffocating him. There was a scream, animalistic and _afraid_ , and Tommy didn’t realize that it had come from him until Tubbo’s arms were around him, hauling him back from the useless attempt at freedom.

In a blind panic, Tommy ripped one of his gloves off and slashed upwards. Tubbo only narrowly avoided a mauling by ducking to the side before contact could be made.

“Stop it!” Tubbo shouted, and that was what grounded Tommy. His breathing was stuttering, ragged and uneven with the instinct to get _out, out,_ but at least now he was a little more coherent. He shoved his glove into his pocket and glared at Tubbo.

Tubbo, who was looking at Tommy with his hands up like he was afraid of him. The latter sighed and shook his head.

“You good?” Tubbo asked, tentative, and Tommy could only nod. 

“Good. We need to get out. Reckon you can help me break a window?”

Tommy could break things. He liked breaking things. Another nod and he was darting off after Tubbo towards the crumbling wall.

It was dark outside by now, and dust from the explosion made it hard to see. Still, Tommy’s eyesight was sharp. He saw the shadowed figure approaching on the other side of the window before Tubbo did, and he bowled his friend over in a reckless tackle.

“What are you-“ Tubbo gasped as they both hit the floor. He didn’t get to finish his sentence before the room was filled with light.

There was heat, burning and searing at Tommy’s back as he wrapped himself around Tubbo. It wasn’t like the ambient warmth of the Nether- which was dry and pleasant, like a persistent (albeit choking) hug. This was _terrible_. Shrapnel cut into him, shards of glass and rock barraging him and stinging despite the protection of his clothes. It felt like there was a fire behind him, pursuing him as he held onto his Tubbo, a fire that clawed and ripped and was coming to consume him. 

Tommy was crying and trembling, remembering the horrendous howling of withers and his brother’s _‘lets be the villains’_ and the promise of death to him and all that he loved. He was _hot,_ too hot, and he felt it on the side of his face and his back and the scorched gray fur of his tail. He didn’t even notice the ringing in his ears until he was lifted into the air by some outside figure, off the ground and away from Tubbo.

Tubbo, who was awake and _okay,_ but left reeling and looking disoriented in a way that was not very reassuring to Tommy. 

Someone had picked him up by the back collar of his vest like an unruly kitten. Tommy did not understand what was happening or why, and he kicked and shouted and screamed and flailed for Tubbo. Tubbo mostly just looked past him with an expression all confused.

“Took longer than I would have liked to find you,” Dream cooed, and Tommy stilled for the briefest of seconds. Tubbo spoke.

“Why?” He asked. He sounded all quiet and shaky in a way that made Tommy’s heart twist. Dream chuckled.

“The Arctic Commune’s getting too strong, Tubbo, and L’Manburg too spunky. This-“ He shook Tommy, who could barely hear the words being exchanged- “is the source of my problems. Life was much easier for me when it was shut away and alone.”

 _Alone._ That was the only word Tommy could make out, and he started trying to claw himself free again.

“Runner?” Tubbo sounded confused and dumbfounded. Dream let out another dark wave of laughter that rolled like heavy thunder. “What do you want with him?”

“So that’s what you’re calling him now? Runner?”

“I don’t-“

Tommy didn’t know what was happening, what was being said. He really didn’t. But suddenly he was being dropped. He hit the ground on all fours and tried desperately to scamper away before a boot came slamming into his back between his shoulder blades. Tommy’s limbs went out from beneath him as he was squished into the debris-covered floor with an ‘oof’.

“Tell you what, Tubbo.” Dream was bargaining above Tommy. The latter didn’t hear it. “You fight him, and if you win, I let you go.”

Tommy’s ears were ringing. Tubbo didn’t know it was him. He had to-

“Tubbo,” He gasped, hoarse, and Dream grinded a boot into his back. There was the rumbling of a threat above him that Tommy couldn’t make out.

_Dream didn’t want Tubbo to know that Runner was Tommy._

He could say it anyway, but Dream would probably- Dream would definitely kill him; or kill Tubbo, and then make his life a living hell. 

“And if _he_ wins..?” Tubbo asked, pensive. Tommy was desperately grabbing for anything he could use to claw himself forward. His fists only found grit and debris from the crumbled wall, the skin peeling raw as he fought uselessly to get out from under Dream.

“Then you die.” Dream shrugged. “Fight to the last man standing.”

“What’s the other option?”

“You come with me.”

Tommy still could not make out their words, only the hum of unintelligible voices rising and dipping with cool calm and then nervous fear. Oh gods, oh gods, Tommy still couldn’t hear. He was very hot still. Too hot.

“And that’s bad enough that I should risk my life to get out? That I should kill Runner for it?”

“Yes.”

Tubbo leaned back. Dream shifted towards him, and the tiniest fraction of the weight shifted off of Tommy’s back. It was an opening immediately taken.

Tommy shot onto his side, throwing up one shoulder and unbalancing Dream. The rotation was accompanied by a twist, Tommy latching around Dream’s leg and dragging it out from under him. He pulled, and Dream hit the ground with a yell, and suddenly Tommy was grabbing Tubbo and running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smashed a 40 on the ground and yelled SCATTER


	42. Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter title is referencing a sudden shift in the chapter (you’ll know it when you see it) so heads up
> 
> tw for violence

Dream was already getting up again, cutting off the windows as a reliable escape route. Tommy and Tubbo needed to get him down again so that they could get around, or else Dream would be able to catch at least one of them.

Tommy cut a quick path across to the stage and sprung up without a hint of hesitation in his stride. Tubbo was slower, more susceptible to stumbles, but he managed to mostly keep on Tommy’s heels anyway.

“What are we doing?” Tubbo exploded. Tommy grabbed his blade from where it was nestled in his boot and threw up the cover of the harpsichord that was left abandoned by the band.

“Gettin’ ready to fight our way out! Just- in a, in a different way than Dream wanted-“ Tommy gripped one of the instrument’s wires, lifting up and cutting it free with two slashes of the dagger.

“The weapons stash is outside and I don’t have a sword!”

Tubbo was saying a lot of words that Tommy just failed to hear. He got the gist of it though, and after he cut loose one string of the instrument, he shoved his blade into Tubbo’s hands. Tubbo looked up with a wide-eyed and scared expression. 

“You didn’t need a sword, dumbass, you could’ve used what’s here!” Tommy snapped, stretching the harpsichord wire taut between his fists. Tubbo could only nod meekly as Dream stalked towards them.

Dream was terrifying, the hood of his hunter’s cloak pulled up to shadow the mask. That mask, which Tommy had broken at the last festival, had been repaired- patched together and sealed, the cracks dancing with emerald ichor in a twisted kintsugi. Tommy swallowed.

“We can flank him,” He whispered to Tubbo. It took all his effort not to turn and look at the other boy. “Tag team him and escape.”

“Okay,” Tubbo agreed, and after he nodded, Tommy was sent bounding off the stage.

Dream lunged for him, predictably, and Tubbo squealed as Dream’s back turned towards him. Instead of abandoning Tommy, though, he lashed out with the netherite blade that Tommy had granted him. The dark, shining purple ripped a jagged seam in Dream’s cloak, the fabric igniting and dancing with flames.

Dream yelled and Tubbo screamed, neither having anticipated fire aspect to be among the weapon’s enchantments. Dream’s fist loosely gripped in the fabric of Tommy’s vest, but he was already startled enough that a slash across his jaw from the boy’s wire made him let go. 

Tommy was then scrambling to follow Tubbo, who had just leapt over the window’s ledge and down to the grass below.

Dream was after them. Tommy knew it, Tubbo knew it. What they weren’t expecting was the reinforcement.

Back when Tommy had been ill, he had dreamed. Even now Tommy remembered those dreams despite having been barely lucid in the moment. He remembered running, remembered Dream catching him at the last second to drag him away from home.

This was weirdly reminiscent of that, he mused, as Jack Manifold bowled him over with a force that sent him sprawling across the forest floor.

“Runner!” Tubbo shouted, and he skidded to a stop just as Jack gathered up a struggling Tommy in his arms and pressed a blade against his throat.

“Not a step closer or I’ll kill him.”

Tubbo stopped. Tommy’s grip on his wire tightened.

* * *

Tubbo had always been kind. As a child, he’d had a singular pet bee. A male that had been kicked out of the hive for winter. 

When he’d found it on the forest floor, Tubbo had held his breath, trusted it not to sting him (unaware, at the time, that males lacked the ability to do such a thing), and gathered it up in his hands.

He’d walked the rest of the way through Tommy’s woods, gathering up fistfuls of moss whenever he passed any. When he reached Phil’s cabin, Tommy and Wilbur were gone, so Tubbo had been made to ask Techno for a glass jar. 

He’d been given a glaring scowl but handed a jar anyway. He stuffed the moss into the bottom, added a single stick, and set the jar on the desk in Tommy’s room knowing full well that his friend would grudgingly allow it.

Tubbo found an old bottlecap in the trash and kept it in that jar, making sure there was always honey pooled in it. He even misted the jar every day so the bee had water, and loved it with everything he had in him.

The bee died after a few weeks and Tubbo wept for it.

Runner was kind of like a bee.

When Tubbo had observed Runner in the ballroom, he’d bounced from place to place like there was too much excitement to contain. He leapt, and he buzzed, and he danced and drew Tubbo in with it. He seemed to be buzzing even now, trembling against the blade that glinted like a silver fang in the moonlight. The whites of his eyes were largely visible, flitting between Tubbo and Jack and back to Tubbo.

Runner may have robbed him, but Tubbo trusted Runner not to _sting_ him. When Jack commanded the young president to lower his weapon, he did.


	43. Fists of Holly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for violence, attempted kidnapping, death/murder

“Tubbo,” Runner started, only to make a quiet choking sound as Jack pressed the sword more firmly against his throat. Tubbo was afraid. They had to get out of here, and quickly. The moment Dream arrived was the moment their fates were sealed.

“Kick your dagger away,” Jack instructed, and Tubbo gave it a lighthearted tap with his foot. Runner’s neckerchief, once white, began to blur red at the top edge. Tubbo swiped the blade with his foot, more genuinely this time, and Jack nodded. Satisfied, he loosened his hold on Runner enough so that the red stopped coming.

Jack clearly didn’t think Runner a greater threat than Tubbo, as evidenced by his lack of regard for the wire. The wire-

Tubbo’s eyes narrowed at Runner, searching his gaze for the anger. Some sign, anything. He only found fear and looked back to Jack with a tight sigh.

“Why?” He asked, hands furling and unfurling around empty air. Jack gave a smile that bled with twisting corruption.

“Revenge.” He shrugged, and not for the first time Tubbo wondered how Runner appeared out of nowhere and yet seemed to have history with every obstacle to their freedom. “Among other things.”

“Such as?”

“Reward.”

“Whatever Dream’s paying you, Jack, I can match it-“

“This isn’t just about that!” Jack Manifold snapped, tightening his grasp on Runner when he began to struggle. They were running out of time, evidenced by the sound of a flock of birds taking to the sky. Something must have startled them. Probably Dream.

Jack swung his head to snarl at Runner, a crazed look in his eye, and Tubbo took the opportunity to edge towards his dagger. Jack saw the movement and lifted the sword to slash at the air in the direction of Tubbo. He was too far to make contact; the intent behind the motion was to threaten.

Runner took the opening for what it was, though. He gripped the harpsichord wire in both hands and slammed sideways. Jack screamed as his wrist was cut into, dropping the sword.

Tubbo pounced on his own dagger. Unnecessary, as by the time he turned around, Runner had slammed his elbow into the side of Jack’s head to knock him back. Both were on the ground now, Runner pummeling relentlessly at a reeling Jack with his fists.

Tubbo was unable to watch further, nausea rising in the throat at the unbidden brawl. He shielded his eyes as the dull sounds of fist-on-face impact faded to the choked sounds of strangulation.

When it stopped, Tubbo chanced a glance at Runner. He had a wild look in his eyes, remnants of the garroting spraying the glistening metal of his masquerade mask, and his chest rose and fell with desperate gasps.

Tommy had been right, all that time ago. The blood looked black in the moonlight. 

“We need to go.” Tubbo wheezed, addressing that instead of the wisps of smoke where Jack had been, and Runner didn’t respond so Tubbo grabbed his wrist and dragged him along.

Suddenly Runner dug his heels into the ground and refused to go further. Tubbo snapped his head to Runner and opened his mouth. 

Before he could get any words out, Runner had surprised Tubbo yet again. The other boy had fallen into him, arms thrown around his neck in a tight hug.

And it was _nice_. Tubbo hadn’t been hugged in so long, and Runner was firm and strong and safe _._

Oh. Runner was gross, too. Tubbo broke the hug to push Runner back, making a face and wiping at the blood now smeared against his chest.

“Sorry,” Runner wheezed out sheepishly, before grabbing Tubbo’s hand in his own. “Tubbo, I need to tell you-“

Tubbo’s ears flicked off towards the distance, prey’s intuition sensing danger. A twig cracked somewhere far off and Tubbo shushed Runner.

“We need to go,” He whispered, and Runner only blinked. That wasn’t good. 

On silent hooves, Tubbo motioned for Runner to follow and stay quiet as he ducked through the foliage. They might not be able to outpace Dream, but surely, _surely_ they could outsneak him.

An arrow whizzed past Tubbo, just nicking him on the edge of his ear, and told him that he was wrong.

“ _Run_!” He snapped, shoving Runner forward, and _goddamn_ did that boy live up to his name. He shot off into the forest, disappearing among the greenery before Tubbo could blink, and Tubbo took off in the opposite direction.

Divide and conquer. Dream was after Runner. Tubbo could get help. He could.

He stayed near the edge of the tree line, knowing full well that being entirely in the forest would slow him down, and ran. Blood pounded in his ears (one of which felt warm, where he’d been notched by an arrow) and he heard nothing except for his own panting gasps.

Ahead was a break in the foliage, on the edge of a cliff overlooking the newly-crumbling wall of the venue. Tubbo was back where he had started, almost.

He meant to keep running past it, get out and away and to wherever his friends had scattered off to. Unfortunately his foot caught something soft but firm and he fell forward in a heap.

Tubbo gasped as he realized that he’d tripped over something- _someone,_ his mind provided, and scrambled forward to try and escape the wrath of a possible enemy. It took a few moments of stillness before Tubbo realized the figure was unconscious.

It was hard to see in the moonlight, but he could make out quite a lot of dark fabric. Near his own hands were scattered feathers like one might find at the site of a cat’s catch. Images of the stage after the festival, adorned similarly with feathers, flashed through his mind.

Tubbo stumbled back forward to the figure. A mop of blond hair, feathers, overlooking the hall- Tubbo should’ve known. He still startled when he heaved the figure over and saw the blond scruff of Philza.

Phil could help, Phil would help him. Sure, Phil looked like _he_ needed help, out cold and with red dribbling a line from his nose down to his lip, but still.

Tubbo shook him. Nothing happened. Desperate, Tubbo did the only thing he could think to- and socked the man across the jaw.

Phil jolted with a shout, his eyes flying open, and then Tubbo was being kicked clean across the clearing and sent sprawling out in the grass.

“What the hell, mate!” Phil shouted, words slurring together and eyes unfocused. Tubbo held his hands up placatingly.

“Please, you gotta help me, Dream’s after Runner-“

Phil keeled over and began coughing and hacking wildly. Maybe he wasn’t the best, but he’d been the first person Tubbo had seen.

“Please,” Tubbo tried again, and Phil swayed as he braced himself against the grass and glowered at Tubbo.

Finally Phil managed to get out a response, though the way he reached up to clutch at his head made Tubbo hold his breath.

“I’ll call Technoblade,” He rasped, and Tubbo had never been so simultaneously thankful and afraid in his life.


	44. The Boomdog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> local torched raccoon roasts horses for an hour
> 
> tw for explosions, attempted kidnapping/murder, violence, fire/smoke, u kno the drill

Somehow, it always ended with Tommy alone and running for his life from Dream.

Tommy intentionally found the narrowest possible gaps in the foliage and dove between them in hopes that it could slow Dream down. Thankfully his mask kept thorns from scoring across his face.

His heartbeat beat a thundering rhythm in his ears, and it deafened him to everything except that miserable ringing that hadn’t stopped since he’d shielded Tubbo from the second explosion. _Boom._ The guttural roar of an explosion had crept out of Tommy’s dreams and into his waking life, leaving him with burns and a question on his tongue regarding Phil. His father- who had, not for the first time, failed to deliver on a promise to protect- and in doing so abandoned Tommy to a very volatile pack of wolves.

Tommy had shaped up during his time living in the Arctic though. The last time that Dream had sent him running, he had been still physically recovering from starvation and weakness. Now his strides were steadier, having grown stronger along with him and giving him a lasting chance at holding out against Dream.

Before Dream had been a hunter, though, he had been prey, and he had the same experience Tommy had. Where Tommy was scrappy, Dream was crafty. Resourceful. 

A dynamite arrow was produced. Dream slowed only enough to light and notch the thing before letting it fly.

Tommy screamed as the third explosion of the night sounded, loud enough to penetrate even the feeling of packed cotton in his ears. The foliage before him lit up in flames, licking towards the sky in angry wisps of orange, and even through his fear he mourned the loss of the nature.

 _‘Oh no, the trees,’_ had been the only coherent thought before his mind reverted to an animal state of survival. He was a deer in the headlights, frozen only for a few moments as the bark and cinders burst outward like a burning starfall, and once the new injuries subsided to muted stinging along with the rest of his wounds he was on the run again. Those few seconds had just about cost him his freedom as Dream reached to grab him just a second too late.

There was no opportunity for forgiveness here. No amount of groveling or begging or sacrificed armor could keep Dream from killing Tommy should he get his hands on him. 

Tommy exploded out the edge of the forest, a flying streak of gray against the night’s shade. Ash danced in the corners of his vision, the smoke burning the back of his throat. If he had stayed in the woods where there were more trees for Dream to burn, it was entirely possible that Tommy wouldn’t be able to gasp enough air into his lungs to continue such a chase. It was in this way that the new stretch of open land was both a blessing and a curse.

There was an empty expanse of nothing except grass and wildflowers between Tommy and the rest of civilization, L’Manburg’s newly completed (and newly destroyed) build laying off the edge of the community. This place was a dangerous limbo between life and death, and Tommy wasn’t just walking the wire. He was bolting across it like a startled squirrel.

The whole surrounding area seemed deserted, abandoned by everything except the billowing dust of a newly collapsed wall. Tommy’s boots struck the last stretch of grass and he sprung, his leaping stride sending him upwards onto the end of the Prime path and barreling towards the heart of L’Manburg. 

Oh, Tommy was in deep shit now. If he was lucky, Dream would just shoot him down with a regular old arrow, striking him in the back of the neck and sending him down and dead like a bag of bricks. 

“Knock on wood!” He shouted, because he was _not_ superstitious but he had enough trouble on his plate with one god after him. He really could not afford to chance his already shit luck. 

A massive fucking boar hybrid chose that moment to appear with an outwardly pulsing cloud of purple smoke, and Tommy had never been more glad that the prime path was made out of oak. Or- maybe that was wrong, because he’d been wishing for a swift and merciful death. Nevermind. He didn’t care to think about the logistics of Technoblade’s appearance being related to his last-ditch attempt at salvation via superstition.

Technoblade met Dream full force and it was like watching a wall of bricks manifest in front of a speeding car. The green figure crumpled against Technoblade and suddenly a fight was occurring that Tommy didn’t care to watch.

“Runner!” A voice beckoned him, and Tommy leapt off the Prime Path towards it. There waiting was Tubbo, hands fisted around the reins of a white-eyed and frantically stomping horse.

Tommy had never liked horses. They were big, and their stupid faces were too long and their mouths too small, and they had weirdly human lips but too many teeth.

Tubbo’s horse, and the two additional ones hitched next to him, realistically should have terrified Tommy. Their hooves rose and fell back to the ground in a startled discord, their ears swiveled and pinned back, their nostrils flared- everything about them seemed afraid, and Tommy knew a thing or two about what a frightened prey animal could do.

Tubbo threw Tommy the reins to one of the two other horses, the buckskin one, and Tommy flung himself onto the animal in spite of his usual phobia. Any escape from Dream was met with open arms.

Tubbo gave the reins of his horse- a stamping black mare- a switch and she took off. Tommy made to follow; even though he hated horses _(and their stupid fucking dinnerplate murder nails),_ he had to be thankful for the feeling of the breeze whipping his face and the opportunity for a hasty escape.

They weren’t quite out of the woods yet, though. There was a blood bay horse left stomping in place, saddle open and waiting for a warring Technoblade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH ITS FANART TIME!
> 
> [runner](https://twitter.com/soulfulsoda/status/1350531647880351744?s=21) in full masquerade glory
> 
> [dream](https://twitter.com/crowsiecrow/status/1350540587003502593?s=21) and his mask repairs
> 
> both artists captured exactly what i was envisioning perfectly and u should show them some love because they’re both wonderful and beautiful pieces!!


	45. Bumble Sting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for graphic depictions of violence and animal death, heavily implied drug use (in the form of potions, but still), internal vibrations(?)

Tubbo hadn’t questioned how Techno had gotten the horses. The man was an enigma.

He warned Tubbo that he didn’t care what happened to the horses that were intended for the younger boys, but if anything happened to the blood bay horse he would flay Tubbo alive. Tubbo had just swallowed a pitiful bleat and nodded, promising not to hurt the horse.

Runner had leapt onto the back of the buckskin mare and the pair took off, hooves thundering on the Prime Path as they tried to get as much space between them and Dream as possible. 

The other boy looked like _shit._ His hair was falling out of its tie, disheveled and coated in a fine layer of cream powder likely from the crushed building wall. He smelled like gunpowder and sweat, Tubbo could tell even given their distance, and holes had been burned in his clothes.

What Tubbo couldn’t see was much skin given the masquerade mask, but that didn’t matter because he would probably be too scared to look anyway. Runner was definitely hurting and probably burned, if the state of his clothes and the way he held himself were any indications.

The sound of blades clashing behind them stopped and suddenly the drumming beat of hooves on wood increased with a third and then fourth addition to their chase. Ah, shit. It seemed that wherever Techno had gotten the horses from was close enough for Dream to reach too.

Tubbo yanked his right fist in towards his belly, still clutching the reins, and his horse jerked right with the movement. The turn was sharp, and Tubbo was scared for a moment that the poor thing’s legs would go out from under her, but clearly he had underestimated an animal made to run. She erupted off the prime path and bolted down into the meadows with nary a trip. Runner kept on his heels.

Technoblade’s horse was faster than Runner’s and Tubbo’s. He didn’t know how long they were running for before there was a cinnamon streak gaining on them and a piglin hybrid calling out.

“Catch!”

Then there was a glass bottle shattering over Tubbo’s head. It _hurt_ and nearly flung him off his horse, but he was then bathed in a warmth and confidence that he lacked before. The muscles in his hands began buzzing, as if little bits and pieces of tendon would shoot away from him like a firework had they not been contained by his skin.

It would be unpleasant if not for the new unplaceable sense of invincibility accompanied by the knot on his temple. He didn’t even care that whatever was in the bottle had wetted his hair, plastering it to his forehead and causing sticky pink to drip down into his brow line.

Techno had tossed Runner something that Tubbo couldn’t make out between the blurring of his surroundings and the feeling of bees in his palms. The horses were still moving, he noticed faintly, going on with their existence even when Tubbo wasn’t looking at them. Huh. They were alive, he was alive, he couldn’t die-

“If there’s anything I’ve learned in all my years, it’s using diplomacy to diffuse the situation!”

That was Runner, Tubbo noted distantly, and even though his voice sounded hoarse flinty and taut at all times, it carried. Loud, Tubbo noted. Runner was a very loud person all of a sudden.

Runner’s hands raised as he twisted around backwards on his horse and Tubbo realized that the thing Techno had thrown the other boy was a bow and quiver. An arrow was notched and let loose at their pursuer.

There was an equine yelp, high and grating and choking as the arrow struck just a little too low to hit its target.

Techno roared at Runner. “That’s exactly the kind of diplomacy that got you exiled!”

Tubbo was confused. Confused, and fuzzy. Gently vibrating, like a jar of rocks set atop an old washing machine. He could not focus on the words, only the force at which he was gripping the reins.

“Yeah, well it worked, dinnit?” Runner snapped back at Techno. Tubbo realized that he was right. Dream’s horse had collapsed, red froth spraying from its mouth as it laid on its side and uselessly flailed its gangly limbs. Dream was trapped beneath the saddle, screaming and yelling and crying at them even as he grew smaller and smaller against the horizon.

“You killed it,” Tubbo wailed, mournful. The thrashing of the animal began to look more like a buzz the further and further they got.

“Him or us!” 

Techno grunted, pulling up on the reins as Dream finally disappeared behind the crest of a hill. Tubbo didn’t realize that he had done the same until Techno was hauling him off the mare, lifting him up by the collar of his shirt and snorting like an angry bull. Tubbo looked up into the crimson eyes of a furious animal and giggled.

“Where’s Phil?” Techno snarled, and Tubbo giggled again and pushed at Techno’s face. It was light, he had thought, but the other’s snout was still moved to look the other way. Techno swung his head back to glare at Tubbo and huffed.

“He’s-“ Tubbo had intended to give a real and honest answer, but without the roar of battle to keep his mind in one place his thoughts wandered. He giggled innocuously. “-You know, I’m really strong right now. You should be glad I’m on your side, yeah. If I wanted to get away I could break your hands and run.” Another high and flighty bout of laughter escaped him.

Techno shook him and Tubbo was reminded of the original question. “Right. He’s just on the edge of a cliff on the edge of the woods, overlooking the ball venue I think. Got knocked right around, he did.”

Techno dropped him and Tubbo caught himself with ease despite his usual clumsiness. A swoop of the cape and he was gone, leaving him alone with Runner.

“I need milk.” He informed Runner, tone serious despite the loopy smile playing across his cheeks. The other blinked until Tubbo repeated himself, then repeated himself a second time. Milk, milk, milk. ‘Milk’ no longer felt like a real word to him. Runner scoffed.

“Not until we get back. We can’t be sure that we’re safe until then.”

Tubbo’s hand was grabbed by Runner and he was being led along suddenly, towards the edge of the sea.

“I’m not sure I’ll be safe anyways with you around, Mister Runner. You kicked me off a table. That wasn’t very nice.”

“Well, you fell. That was your own fault.” 

The hold around his palm squeezed the bees outward so that they were more concentrated in his fingertips, the tingly feeling more unpleasant than distracting now. He frowned and shifted his hand so that their fingers were laced together and the increased contact made the buzzing go away. 

“Where are we going?” Tubbo asked, and Runner did not answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [fanart time!](https://twitter.com/sar_ca5tic/status/1351727546090532869?s=21)


	46. Claw Marks In Your Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from [sleep with a baseball bat](https://youtu.be/8SqLUnUv0mo), i recommend listening to it! it’s a good song and one of the ones i have in the seeecret asns playlist so it plays a lot while i write for this :)

The boat ride back was silent, Runner not responding to any of Tubbo’s attempts at conversation. It took long enough that he could feel the potion begin to wear off, his loopiness fading and bringing him more awareness to his surroundings.

He wished the potion had stayed in full effect as he stepped out to help drag the boat on shore. The warm fuzziness had gone, leaving him at the mercy of the frigid water sloshing up against the rocks and soaking into his shoes.

Tubbo was eager to get out of the snow and cold. He was not at all dressed for it or prepared, and Runner didn’t seem to be either, but the latter didn’t act like he minded. He strided through the powdery white like the air itself wasn’t trying to bite them.

Runner led the way towards an empty-looking cabin, the lights inside dimmed. He pushed the door open and motioned for Tubbo to enter.

Inside was cool from lack of activity, but not near as cold as outside. Runner stalked in like he owned the place and began poking at the firepit.

“Is this where you live?” Tubbo asked curiously, meandering over to the couch and running his hand over the wooden arm. The pads of his fingers found divets where crudely carved messages and images had been scratched.

Runner didn’t answer, or even really flick an ear to signify that he’d heard Tubbo. He frowned and spoke louder.

“Hey, you’re hurt. Come here and let me help you.”

Runner’s head snapped to Tubbo with a scowl. Suddenly he stood, just as the flames began to catch and swell up in the fireplace.

The fur of Runner’s tail stood on end, puffed out like a furious cat, and he stepped forward with his hands curled into fists. He still only had one glove on, leaving those wickedly sharp claws flashing in front of the yellow light of the fire. Tubbo took a step back and raised his hands. Suddenly, he was very afraid.

He wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong, but clearly Runner was angry at him for something. The other hybrid stepped forward and removed his mask.

He looked mostly like what Tubbo expected, the raccoon markings of the masquerade accessory mirrored on the skin of the other boy’s face. A mask of gray, freckles standing out as white pinpricks against the sooty color of his markings. A strand of hair fell from its braid to dip into Runner’s eyes, and his skin was pulled tight and red over his cheekbones where he’d clearly been burned. Fingerprints where he’d miscalculated a rub, scrapes and scratches, grime from crawling out of the rubble- yeah, Runner looked like shit.

The shape of his face was vaguely familiar though, and Tubbo couldn’t place why until the other shifted back into a fully human form. When the goat hybrid blinked, Runner came back without the claws or tail or mask or fluffy gray ears.

He came back as Tommy, eyes shining bright and gray and _angry._

“Tommy.” Tubbo gasped, stepping forward and extending a hand towards his friend. His _best_ friend, the one he loved before all others.

Tommy, in a movement quick as a flash, swiped a sword from its place hanging on the fireplace mantle. He raised it, and now Tubbo could see the pain in his eyes. The desire to turn a sword on the young president for all the hurt he’d caused.

“Don’t touch me,” Tommy hissed, and Tubbo hummed. He raised his hands up and trusted Tommy not to stab him.

The tip of the blade quivered from the shakiness in the blond boy’s hands.

Slowly and deliberately, Tubbo raised his forearm and used it to nudge the sword down. Tommy let him, just made a choked sound of grief as it happened.

Tommy’s fingers uncurled around the sword and let it clatter the ground. Tubbo threw himself into the other boy’s chest, fingers clutching at the back of his torn shirt like he’d disappear if his grip faltered. Tommy’s arms wound around him, more muscular than gangly like he remembered them being, and the two best friends held each other.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Tubbo babbled, head butting softly against Tommy’s chest over and over despite the fact that he was pretty sure Tommy couldn’t really hear what he was saying. Tommy’s chin settled on the top of the shorter boy’s head, nestled in the spot right between his horns, and they just clung to each other and shook until Tubbo came back to himself.

When he could breathe steady again, his head shot up. “Oh my god, Tommy. You’re hurt. You’re hurt bad.”

Tommy emitted a quiet noise that wasn’t quite one of acknowledgement as Tubbo grabbed his hands and began pulling him back towards what he hoped was the kitchen. He had guessed correctly, and after he patted the countertop, Tommy hopped up there to sit.

Tubbo scampered off to the other side of the room, opening and closing drawers the whole way across to try and find what he needed. It was just his luck that he didn’t find a single wash cloth until the very last drawer.

When he found it, he bunched it up in one hand and shoved it under the sink’s faucet. Once he had soaked it in cool water and wrung it out, he returned to Tommy and raised the rag to the burned side of his face.

The door banged open while Tubbo was gently cleaning away soot and grit, sending both boys jolting and Tubbo skittering away to grab for the previously abandoned sword. When he burst into the living room, he was faced off with Phil and Techno in the doorway.

The latter dove for him and he screamed, Phil standing stricken and useless while Techno chased Tubbo in circles around the coffee table. Techno wasn’t stopped until Tommy appeared. 

“Leave him alone!” He barked, and Tubbo hurried back to linger in front of the taller boy and pant. Techno just glowered.

“You brought him here?” Techno was clearly preparing to dig into the youngest two of the group. Tommy flinched and Phil rested a hand on Techno’s broad shoulder.

“We can focus on that later. We’re all hurting, mate.”

Techno grunted and shouldered his way across the room, down a ladder that Tubbo hadn’t previously noticed. Tubbo emitted a relieved exhale as Phil ushered them both back into the kitchen. They would be okay, Tommy would get help from Phil and he would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tubbo’s lil headbuts spark joy
> 
> anyway lets play a game of ‘is tommy really okay or did fish actually pulverize him’


	47. Torn in Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw graphic depictions of injuries (especially burns), implied vomit/sickness, mild dissociation. this is a gruesome one folks

Tommy wouldn’t admit it, but he was scared.

It felt like a lifetime ago, now, that he had shielded Tubbo from the explosion, but one of his ears still hadn’t stopped ringing. His skin felt like it was on fire, everything hurt, and he was so  _ tired. _ It had to have been hours, he knew it- long enough that dawn would probably be returning soon- and he just wanted to sleep.

He couldn’t, though, Phil made that much clear. No sleep until he’d at least been patched up. Tubbo hovered, clutching a folded sleep shirt to his chest for Tommy to change into when he was done, and the blond was sure that had Techno not been in the house Phil would have shooed the boy out. For once, he was thankful for Techno’s vendetta against Tubbo. 

Tommy emitted a hiss of pain as Phil worked at finishing the job Tubbo started, cleaning away soot and grime and the remnants of the explosion. Tommy’s palms were skinned and bloody and maimed from his attempt to claw his way to freedom so that he couldn’t even clutch at the fabric of his pants when the hurt came. 

The burning of his face was finally slightly appeased when Phil finished cleaning the wound and began instead applying magma cream to the area. It was gross and thick but at least it provided a much welcome coolness.

Tubbo asked something that Tommy couldn’t make out and Phil just shrugged. He didn’t like that, didn’t like not knowing what was going on. He swallowed.

Phil worked his way down Tommy’s face to his neck, where he applied healing salve to the second shallow cut to ever have sliced across his throat, and then began undoing the vest to get at Tommy’s chest and back. That was what Tommy was really scared for, the uncomfortable pain of fabric against a burn wound definitely would not lessen until Phil was done.

The vest came off easy enough, being a button-up piece pulled over a white top. It was the shirt that was the problem. 

Phil was careful cutting it off, taking a pair of shears to the hem and snipping upwards to the neck. When it had been fully cut through, Tommy pulled his arms through and out with a cringe. It hurt, but it was bearable. At least the open air against his skin provided some semblance of relief.

It was when Phil began to carefully pull the fabric off the rest of the way that the pain really got bad.

Tommy failed to suppress a bloody scream as the shirt was shifted away from his back, where the worst of the burn was. His skin felt coursing hot, polarized from the rest of him because of the injury- and when the fabric was removed, his blistering skin peeled back with it.  _ Oh, gods. _ It was one of the worst things he’d ever experienced, he thought, even with the hell he’d experienced in his exile. Pieces of shrapnel that had hooked onto the fabric of the shirt were torn free with stretches of his own flesh, remaining as shards of darkness clinging against the murky coral of burned skin. Tommy felt sick looking at it.

Tommy didn’t realize he was crying until Tubbo appeared next to him, thumbs gently wiping under his eyes as water welled and then spilled to keep them from running tracks across the burn cream dressing his cheeks. Phil’s mouth was moving and Tommy heard none of it, hands moving to desperately clutch at Tubbo’s shirt despite the protesting of his raw palms. Even the burn cream that had so greatly helped the side of his face could not assist with an injury that had undoubtedly gone much further than a flesh wound.

The injury hadn’t even just been a burn. The pieces of grit, glass, and rock that had flown and battered his back left him bloody, a fact that had escaped Tommy while adrenaline was still numbing him to the pain. There was an abstract lightning bolt of gashes, scoring claw marks all along his back and dribbling warm, sticky blood anew now that the fresh scabs had been pulled free with his shirt. Tommy was growing dizzy with the hurt of it all.

Tubbo leaned up, breath grazing the good side of Tommy’s face as he whispered into the ear that wasn’t ringing. “You’re good, you’re doing so good, just a bit longer.”

Thankfully Tommy’s chest, which had been pressed against Tubbo during the blast, only seemed to be suffering bruising. Sure, he’d been squished between rock and Dream’s boot for a considerable amount of time and could possibly be sporting a crack or two in the ribs, but he was too focused on his goddamn back to notice something like that. He just hurt so badly.

The purple and blue marred Tommy’s skin like a horrendous painting. It was all dark and blotchy like a stormcloud over the savanna, where rain was so rare that when it  _ did _ strike it rolled in so hard and violent that the sun could disappear beneath those swells of gray for days. It looked terrible and Tommy was thankful for it, because at least he wasn’t bleeding.

Phil had turned Tommy, shifting him slightly so that he could lay down that terrible goddamn shirt and get at the boy’s back. Tommy could see Tubbo- out of the corner of his eye- go a little green and stumble backwards out of the room. 

Tommy’s breath hitched, fingers bending just enough that it didn’t hurt in a meek imitation of a clenched fist. Phil didn’t notice Tommy’s rising panic. He was too intent on dressing the wound and wrapping it tightly.

The moments in which Tubbo was gone all blurred together. Of course, later Tommy would remember very little of the ordeal in its entirety as his mind repressed and buried as many of the memories as it could (even if abstract concepts of the pain and fear he felt remained). In the moment he had been managing to stay mostly coherent until his rock left, which made his mind go unpleasantly fuzzy and staticy until the goat hybrid slumped back in and immediately made for a glass of water. Tommy focused on Tubbo as the other spat out into the sink and then returned to his side with shaky hands.

Tubbo’s return was accompanied by the realization that Phil had finished bandaging his back, had taken up and wrapped his hands somehow, and was now rolling up his pant legs to get at the scrapes on his calves. Tommy blinked. He felt disconnected, moreso like he was watching this happen to himself than experiencing it even if the pain he felt was very much real.

Tubbo was whispering words to Tommy that- well, he was managing to hear, at least, but he was not processing what was being said whatsoever. They fell over him without being understood like Tubbo was babbling in another language.

Tommy’s eyes remained unfocused even as Phil finally,  _ finally _ finished and Tubbo began guiding him off the counter. The younger let himself be guided down the hall and down into his own bed, Tubbo sliding in after him and tucking him into the safety between the wall and his Tubbo.

It was a safe place, on the bed with another in the same position he’d laid with Wilbur a lifetime ago, and the blackness came over him quickly and without warning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> normalize platonic cuddling
> 
> i am absolutely not a medical professional and this is based off of my own experience as a burn victim which happened in (of course) very different circumstances so excuse any inaccuracies!


	48. I Still Look Out For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (no matter what you heard)
> 
> -
> 
> tommy and tubbo finally talk.

Tommy’s rise to consciousness was slow, thankfully, driven by the dim sunlight filtering in between the slats of his window blinds. His neck stung, the flesh of his back was aflame with retained fire, and the wraps on his hands restricted the movement of his fingers- but he was alive.

It took a long time for him to be able to finally pry his eyes open and when he did Tubbo was still there. The other boy was already awake, laid on his side staring blankly at Tommy, and his too-big sheep’s ears flopped over in a way that would have made him look dopily childish if not for the muddle of scars crossing his skin and the heat of burden in his eyes.

“You make a habit of watchin’ people sleep?” Tommy croaked out. He made no move to relocate despite the jab.

“I had to make sure that you were real. That you were okay.” 

The sincerity and quiet honesty of Tubbo’s tone made his heart ache. Tommy shut his eyes again, fighting the rising tightness in his throat.

“I missed you, Tubbo.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

Tommy opened his eyes again. The world still sounded muffled to him, but that could be attributed to the burned half of his face being the side pressed into the pillow. 

Tubbo was still looking at him with those round doe eyes that screamed of a gentleness Tommy had not felt in over a year. Tubbo spoke again.

“We need to talk, Tommy.”

And _oh,_ that was never good. Tommy winced, bracing himself for news of another punishment. Maybe imprisonment on top of exile, for the destruction caused over him the night prior.

Tubbo’s hands found his wrists and held, a quiet gesture of reassurance. Tommy dared to look again.

“About the dreams, Tommy. I want to talk about the dreams.”

Play dumb. “What dreams?”

Tubbo gave him a funny little side-eye. “I… I get these dreams, where I can talk to you. I think you get them too.”

Tommy was quiet for just a moment too long. “I don’t.”

“You’re lying to me. Even now, I can tell.”

Tommy cringed away. What was he supposed to say? ‘Oh, yeah. That was Wilbur, and he wanted you to _hurt_ for what was done to me in exile’? That’d bode over well.

Wilbur loved Tubbo, yes, but before forgiveness came revenge. Wilbur’s form of vengeance had been making Tubbo face the version of Tommy that he had refused to go visit. His face warmed with anger and upset at the thought.

“You know what?” Tommy whispered, words taking a hostile edge. They were low and dangerous, like the dragging of a blade across a whetstone. Preparing. “I did get them, Tubbo. I did. Because we were meant to talk, but _someone_ didn’t bother to make time for me for a whole year!”

Tubbo’s ears went back against his head as he let Tommy rage quietly on. He took all of it, screwing his eyes shut with a pained sigh as he let go of Tommy. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. But were you- Was that actually-“

“Yes.” Tommy’s tone was flat now. Quiet and hoarse as he stiffly rolled onto his other side so that he was facing away from Tubbo. “Yes, I actually- that was me, at some point or another.”

“Oh.” Tubbo was quiet for a bit, processing. “You can keep yelling at me if you’d like, I deserve it. You deserve that.”

Tommy ran his hands down his face and groaned. Tubbo sounded so _sad;_ sad and gentle and genuine. He couldn’t. And so he rolled over, extended a bandaged hand out towards his friend.

Tubbo tentatively took it.

“Tubbo,” He began. “You are a little bitch.”

It was quiet for a minute until Tubbo exploded into a bout of disbelieving laughter. The sounds of happiness grew wetter and wetter until the boy was crying, head in his hands.

“Oh, I missed you, big man.” Tubbo choked out, and Tommy pushed himself up to hold his arms out. Tubbo scrambled over to him and soon they were wrapped up in each other, Tommy hugging Tubbo to his chest as he cried.

“I should be the one crying.” Tommy complained as his shirt grew increasingly damp. There was no real fire behind his words. “You’re so clingy. Clingy little bitch.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

Tommy lifted a hand from Tubbo’s back and raised it, palm outward. He had been intending to motion while he spoke, but as he drew a breath in, Tubbo instinctually craned his neck so that his head was shoved into Tommy’s palm like a cat. The words died in Tommy’s throat and Tubbo reddened when he realized what he’d done.

“Shut up!” Tubbo shrilled, and Tommy broke into laughter.

Light, gentle fists balled up in the loose fabric of Tommy’s shirt, and now it was his turn to let his laughter turn to tears. Tubbo was already in his lap, so when the goat hybrid realized what was happening, he gently pushed Tommy once more onto his back.

Then Tubbo was laying on top of Tommy, exactly like they’d done in the fields as children when it all got too much, and the pressure against his chest helped remind him where he was. He was okay, he was safe, and Tubbo’s arms had wound around his neck in a loose hug.

He was in his home in the Arctic with Tubbo here, not living in a dream world separated from the other boy.

His home- his-

He hadn’t realized he was fearstricken again until Tubbo was quietly shushing him, the side of his face pressed over Tommy’s heart. He’d heard the beating pick up in frequency and was able to calm the blond down before panic set in again.

Tommy stared up at the ceiling with renewed dullness until Tubbo spoke again.

Tommy hadn’t heard what was said, only felt the vibrations through his chest (and it was hard not to, as Tubbo was still laying on him), and he tapped the bandages taped and wrapped around his burned cheek. Tubbo’s face was on his left side- the side that had been facing the blast when the wall fell. “Other side, buddy, I still can’t hear over there.”

“You can’t hear out of that side?” Tubbo fretted, and Tommy groaned.

“This isn’t about that! What’d you say?”

“Oh! About that masquerade ball-“

Tommy was struggling to play it cool as Tubbo shifted over him, both out of fear and out of pain as Tubbo’s awkwardly ‘bony in some places, soft in others’ proportions pressed into the bruising of his chest. Gently he shoved the smaller boy off of him and used that as an excuse to not look at him. “What, jealous my outfit was cooler than yours?”

“No.” Tubbo was looking at him curiously. “Are you a shifter?”

“No.”

“Yes you are.”

Tommy suddenly looked very scared, so Tubbo held up a palm. Tommy sat up, leaned forward so that the top of his head was pressed into Tubbo’s hand, and sighed. “Yes, I am.”

“How long have you known?”

“Um- a really long time. Like, _really_ long. I was pretty young when I first presented.”

“Who taught you to shift?”

”A friend.” Tommy deflected, because that wasn’t his secret to tell.

“And you never told me?”

“No!” Tommy snapped, angrily pushing his head forward until Tubbo’s arm was retracted enough for the back of the other boys’ hand to bump into his chest. “I don’t-“

“Like hybrids?” Tubbo coaxed gently, and Tommy made a weak sound of pitiful agreement. “It’s okay. I mean, it isn’t, because there’s nothing wrong with being a hybrid, but I get it. We grew up thinking it was bad.”

“And then we both turned out to be hybrids.” Tommy finished, laughing dryly.

Tubbo nodded, allowing silence to stretch on before he dared voice the question on his tongue. “...Can I see?”

Tommy narrowed his eyes in focus, jerking his head to the side. It made his world spin, but when he straightened up again, gray fur spilled out over the collar of his shirt. He had full animal features this time, like Techno and Fundy defaulted to, not the half-and-half limbo form that he’d taken up for the masquerade.

His whiskers were usually bent out of place, which was fine, but now they were burnt- blackened and cropped short close to his face from the heat of the fire. Tubbo tentatively extended a hand, hovering just over the plush fur of his unburnt cheek, and only dared touch him when Tommy nodded approval.

“Woah.” Tubbo murmured, quiet, as he pressed his hand into the plush fur. Tommy winced. Not because it hurt, no. Tubbo’s touch was infinitely gentle. But because he knew the fur of his other cheek was unpleasantly seared, thinned from the blast, horrendously shortened, and spiky where flames had licked and turned gray to black. Suddenly Tommy grabbed behind him with black, clawed paw-hands and pulled his tail into the lap. The fur there was scorched, too, and he began obsessively trying to groom it out. Right something that could not be righted.

Tubbo’s hooved hands grabbed Tommy’s and he fell still before he could pull out his own fur in his delirium. He looked up at Tubbo and blinked, lost.

“It’ll grow back,” He soothed. “You’ll be okay.”

Tommy grunted. Tubbo continued talking.

“I never- thanked you, for what you did back there. Saving me.” Tubbo began chewing at his lip as he looked down at their joined hands. “Even after I hurt you, even though explosions scare you as much as they do. So… thank you, Tommy.”

Tommy shook himself out and suddenly he was human again. Even though he’d never liked that goddamn tail, seeing his fur so unkept felt _wrong._ Tommy made a choked sound of acknowledgment and looked away.

“Of course. For you, Tubbo, I’d do it again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is one of the longest chapters (possibly the longest, i’m unsure and i’m not checking the word count on all 40+ other chapters to see lol) and it really is just because i needed clingyduo fluff :sob:


	49. Staring Contest

The morning after that had been generally uneventful. Tommy had asked Tubbo to get something for him, a shredded blanket out of the back of the closest that he was then instructed to forget about, but after that? Nothing. Tommy had shooed Tubbo out of the room.

Tubbo absolutely did not want to talk to Phil or Techno just yet, so he slid down the wall outside Tommy’s room to sit cross-legged on the floor.

And he waited.

He didn’t know how long he just sat there for until a realization hit him; the lights in the main room were off. 

Tubbo strained his ears to listen for anyone, trying to figure out why the cabin was being kept so dark despite it being well into the afternoon. He could not hear an answer.

Quietly he rose to his feet, creeping down the hallway and poking his head into the living room.

_ Was he alone in the house with Tommy? _

That wouldn't be a problem, Tubbo didn't much mind the idea, but still. He figured there would be at least a warning if Techno and Phil were to leave.

Just as he started to turn to head back, a voice called out to him in a soft whisper.

"Afternoon, Tubbo."

The boy nearly leapt out of his skin, clapping his hand over his mouth before he could yelp. An airy chuckle came from that voice, and when he looked he saw Phil leaned up against the wall. Huh. Tubbo must have missed him.

“Come sit down.” Phil invited, eyes warm and curious, but Tubbo’s walk forward felt out of his control. Like he was in the clutches of a siren, not moving to join the man of his own volition.

He lowered himself onto the chair nearest Phil, who moved to take up a spot on the couch. Tubbo voiced the question rising in the back of his throat.

“Why’s it dark, why are you being so quiet?” He tried to whisper, but the edges of his words bubbled with a barely contained bleat. Phil’s face reddened with barely contained laughter.

Then the older man shook his head out, recomposing himself. He took on a more serious edge. “We’re trying to lure him out, mate.”

“Techno?” Tubbo asked, because that was the only unaccounted for member.

“Tommy.” Phil answered.

That made no sense to Tubbo. Tommy was loud, Tommy was a little dog with too much energy who burst from room to room with sparks beneath his feet and a curse on his lips, and Phil must have seen the bewilderment on the younger boy’s face because he elaborated. “He- after he sees Dream, he usually gets skittish. And he gets these headaches sometimes. If it’s too bright or too loud for him, we might not see him for a few days.”

“He seemed alright last I saw him,” Tubbo mumbled, but even before the words left his lips, he was uncertain. The look on Tommy’s face as he snatched away that pitiful little blanket, ushered him out of the room-

“He did?” Phil coaxed. Tubbo shook his head no and stayed quiet.

Phil turned his head to look down the hall, brows drawing together in the way of a pondering parent. “If you want, I can set you up a guest bed in the basement. I don’t know if you’re planning on staying, but if you are- Tommy might accidentally wake you up, after what happened.”

Tubbo visibly bristled, shoulders drawing up to his scarred cheeks. His head angled down to subtly point the stubs of his horns towards Phil. “I’ll ask Tommy what he wants.”

Techno chose that moment to walk in. There was only the briefest of seconds where he seemed innocent and so utterly domestic- hands gloved in oven mitts, holding a tray of cookies, a gentle smudge of flower against the wisps of pink fur. Then he took in the scene in the living room.

Technoblade’s eyes narrowed, expression narrowing to a murderously dark look and crimson eyes flashing with visions of violence. His tusks suddenly seemed more threatening, curling skywards and flashing white ivory. Powerful tools that could be used to kill. It was easy to forget about the cookies then.

Tubbo had taken up anger in the first place because Phil implied that some nightmares would be enough to separate him from Tommy again. It was a serious enough matter that even though phantom heat blazed across his skin and explosive embers of color flashed and danced across his field of vision, Tubbo held his ground and turned his glare to Techno now.

The sudden spike in tension made Phil freeze for a few moments before sitting up sharply. “Okay, boys, look! Cookies!”

Techno did not break eye contact with Tubbo as he shifted to hold the pan in one hand, shaking off a mitt onto the coffee table to be used as a coaster for the still-hot metal. Tubbo refused to look away as well, eyes narrowed to slits and hackles raised.

Phil looked like he’d just touched a ball of static, hair defying gravity and lifting upwards beneath the brim of his bucket hat. Like a cat puffing its tail in the face of danger.

(Like a bird ruffling its feathers to look bigger.)

Suddenly a cookie was being shoved into Tubbo’s hands by the blond, and he was distracted enough to look down and take a bite. When he looked up again Techno had taken a seat in a recliner that was conveniently the furthest place to sit from the boy. His eyes still flashed with poison.

“Why is the government still here?” Techno said, bluntly, addressing Phil like Tubbo wasn’t right there. So he interjected.

“I never asked to be president! I’m just- just staying where I’m needed most, and right now that’s with Tommy.”

Tubbo felt like he had a right to be a part of tvus conversation, considering it was about him, but Techno shot him a scalding look that said otherwise. “I didn’t hear you saying that a year ago.”

“He- L’Manburg needed me then. Dream would have waged war.”

“Look, Phil! He’s still loyal to L’Manburg.” Techno snapped his head to the eldest of their group. “Kick him out.”

“Sorry, mate. He’s not here to do government things, he’s here for Tommy. Don’t be selfish.”

Techno stilled like he’d been scalded. Finally, he let out a huff through his nose and stalked out of the room.

Phil slumped down against the cushions, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, Tubbo. I agree with him, but his anger at L’Manburg should wait. This is about Tommy.”

Tubbo nodded, heart heavy. Ah. So he was welcomed, but not truly. That was fine. “If it makes you feel any better, L’Manburg- it’s becoming more autonomous, which means it’s less important to me. I’m not tethered like I was.”

“I know, Tubbo.” Phil said, and smiled.


	50. Czeckhov’s Lure

Tommy had meant to get rid of the ripped blanket at some point, but it somehow managed to become a comfort item. That was why he got it before kicking Tubbo out of his room- because he needed something or someone present to assure him that it’d be okay, but he didn’t know if he could handle the company of another person or not.

Exile came back to haunt him. He laid in bed for who knows how long, staring at that shitty picture of the L’Manburg Christmas tree that was still next to his bed after all this time. His head had started to pound.

Tommy remained in a half-awake, half-asleep limbo until his hunger drove him to consciousness. 

He was hesitant to get up at first- he kept food stashed in his room, and could graze on that, but then he would no longer have food in his room and _what if something happens_. After determining that the rest of the cabin was quiet and dark enough to not make his headache worse, Tommy crept out of his room on silent, socked feet.

The living room was lit only by candlelight, the curtains drawn and blocking out what sunlight remained as dusk approached. Phil was nestled in that old chair of his, Techno across from him, and Tommy was thankful that they didn’t reach out to him for conversation or affection.

Tommy was like a little cat in these moments, wanting to exist near them but not truly interact with them. Phil and Techno had learned such by now and didn’t acknowledge him past a nod.

The blond continued past them and into the kitchen and was startled by Tubbo’s presence, weaving pieces of twine together to busy his hands like he did when there was nothing else to do. Tommy halted mid-step and stared.

Tubbo looked up, noticed him, and raised a hand. “Hi.”

“You’re still here?” He blurted, stepping back and folding his arms over his chest. It had been almost a full day by now, he had assumed that Tubbo would have left as soon as everyone was safe. Gone back to L’Manburg.

(Tommy still had business in L’Manburg, but Tubbo didn’t need to know that.)

“Of course.”

And _oh,_ did that answer make Tommy’s blood boil. ‘Of course’ he was still here, it’s not like Tubbo had _ever_ stabbed him in the back and kicked him out before. Tubbo sensed Tommy’s silent rage and frowned.

“Do you _want_ me to go?”

Tommy deflated, because of course he didn’t. He shook his head no and moved to rummage through their food stores so that he wouldn’t have to make eye contact.

He could feel the eyes on his back, though. His skin burned with it.

 _He was in trouble. Dream was behind him, scoring judgement into his back with his eyes alone. There was nothing and no one but there_ was _someone and he was a friend but Tommy was hurting but he deserved it-_

His head snapped back to Tubbo, who was looking at him with meager concern, and he bared his teeth in a snarl. Tubbo averted his eyes and Tommy was free to grab fistfuls of apples.

He scampered out of that room, away from ~~Dream~~ Tubbo and that _stare_ , and he settled on the ground near Phil’s feet. Phil didn’t say anything, just kicked his legs out so that the excess length of his blanket billowed forward for Tommy.

Tommy took it gratefully, spinning and leaning against the cushion so that he was swaddled in the fabric.

His hands, bound loosely to his chest by the swaths of blanket, rose with an apple so he could take a bite. The fire crackled in the fireplace, the only sound aside from his own munching and the occasional whisk of Techno flipping a page.

Tommy shut his eyes as he ate the apple, sinking down towards the floor. His head still hurt but a serenity had overcome him that made everything okay.

“Do you feel alright?” Phil prompted, quiet, just when Tommy was almost asleep. His hands found Tommy’s hair and ran there, fingers lightly scratching at his scalp.

The latter emitted a rumbling noise from somewhere deep in his chest. It was a soft, rolling sound- like the gentle swells of the evening tide, and it bubbled up into the back of his throat in a fashion akin to a purr. 

“No.” Tommy’s admission came after that noise, barely above a whisper. Phil took that answer for what it was and nodded.

Tubbo wasn’t in the room (under the correct assumption that Tommy was mad at him) so the scene wasn’t truly complete. It was missing two dramatically important pieces, the clouds and the sea to compliment the jagged sea stones and the ferns and the blazing sun, but Tommy was content with just Techno, Phil, and himself for the moment.

The piercing whistle of an animal sounded somewhere off in the distant forest, and things were okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i try to engage with as many of the longer comments as i can because i really really love everything you guys have to say, but if there’s ever anything you’re curious about or want to know more of feel free to message me on my twitter (link in end notes)!
> 
> i will tell u guys that there’s a notes app of quotes i come up with based on the ideas i have for the future, and usually i take one of those quotes and use it as a sentence prompt to write the chapter. i have a lot of fun doing it and if you have a specific chapter that you enjoy or you want to know if there’s a future quote about something in particular, feel free to ask and i’ll get back to it!
> 
> also i’m sure some of you have noticed but i have a second fic im working on alongside this one, i’d really enjoy if you checked it out!


	51. Lock And Key

Dusk turned to night and most of the household retired to their respective places. Bar Tommy, who stayed wrapped up in that one spot until he was the only one left awake.

Carefully, he extracted himself from the blanket and untwisted it so he could pull it around his shoulders. Straining his ears to listen and make sure he was alone wasn’t of much use, considering his… _predicament_ , so he just held his breath and hoped that nobody would hear him leaving.

Tommy didn’t shudder even as he stepped out into the snow and shut the door behind him. He was long since accustomed to the chill and dressed for it. He’d have been alright even without the blanket.

He set off through the snow, boots leaving cavernous divets in the white powder as he hastily trotted out. He wasn’t _cold,_ per se, but the icy chill sent little needles of pain that pierced even the thickest of his bandages. He needed out of the tundra fast.

The fastest way out was the nether, though. He didn’t know where his family’s portal was (now that he’d thought of it, he hadn’t been through the nether in _months_ even though he knew well that Techno made regular trips) and he didn’t care enough to build one. He’d have to travel by boat as usual.

And _oh,_ was that just as miserable as he predicted. The turbulent waters tossed his boat and slammed Tommy into the side every once in a while. The wood would dig into his burns, he’d cry out, and then he’d grit his teeth and carry on because he’d been through worse anyway. 

Eventually he started hurting enough that the pain made the trip blur together, which could be seen as both good and bad. Tommy was a big man though, he just gripped the oars tighter in his bandaged hands and kept going. 

The moon was still high in the sky when he hauled the boat up onto the shore. His bandages were soaked through with salt water and sea spray left dewdrops on his hair, but he had made it. The satisfaction of that was enough to blind him to the dampness that soaked uncomfortably through his clothes.

He’d made a promise back at the ball. His business in L’Manburg was unfinished and would remain as such until he delivered on it.

Tommy pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders as he set off towards the settlement. It was always odd seeing L’Manburg still; even in the limbo time between early, early morning and late, late night, but Tommy supposed he’d gotten more or less accustomed to it. 

He hoped that the person he was seeking out hadn’t moved. That would be rather unfortunate for him.

He roamed the streets on quiet feet, keeping to the shadows on the off-chance that someone else really was awake. He made it to his destination without issue, thankfully.

It was a little house, quaint and on the path leading to the docks. Near Phil’s house in L’Manburg. The lights were off and a peek in the window revealed nothing.

Prying open the window with bandaged hands was difficult. His fingers, lacking their full mobility, slipped on the thin metal he had to grab and failed to clutch a few times before he finally got a hold on the pane. He shoved it open, waited to see if anything stirred, and slipped in when nothing came.

Tommy shut the window behind him and winced at the slam it made. He held his breath and didn’t move until he was sure that nothing would come of it.

He turned, gaze scanning over the darkness of the house. He’d climbed into the main living room, and the moonlight spilling into the window did not reach the shadowed hallway.

Tommy crept into the darkness, one hand feeling along the wall. Even though he had the heightened night vision of a foraging nocturnal creature, he had found himself susceptible to random bouts of vertigo where the world spun and dipped beneath him and he really did _not_ want to fall in someone else’s house. 

His hands found the knob of the door that he knew to lead to a bedroom and gently pushed it open. The room smelled of charcoal- an extinguished torch, he knew that scent anywhere- and animal. Like when he pressed his face into the shaggy neck fur of an elk and his senses were all swarmed with earthy warmth and dust and something _alive_ but that wasn’t man.

This wasn’t an elk, though. In the bed was a lump, surrounded by pillows and hidden by blankets. Tommy gripped the two ends of his own blanket still over his shoulders, and he tied them together in an almost-cape so that he had both hands free now.

He crept over to the mound on the bed and ran his hands over the fabric until he found the firm hill of limb that marked a shoulder. Gently, the blond shook.

“Fundy,” He whispered, pawing and pushing and pulling to try and get the fox hybrid awake. “Fundy. Wake up.”

There was a faint ‘mrr’ as the creature turned over. Tommy, thin on patience, gave a much harsher shove. “Fundy!”

Fundy jolted up, blinking sleep from his eyes as he looked around in clear confusion. His fur was pressed flat against his face where he’d been laying and brushed upwards unnaturally everywhere else. Tommy snickered at the bedhead.

The sound pulled Fundy’s gaze immediately over to the boy, and he screamed.

Tommy lunged for Fundy, hands grabbing his muzzle and forcing it shut before Fundy could wake up the whole damn town. Fundy thrashed, confused, before eventually giving up when he realized he wasn’t being actively hurt.

“Shh,” Tommy hissed, pressing a finger to his lips and glowering. The fox hybrid got the message and nodded quickly.

“What are you doing?” Fundy whisper-yelled, and it was a little too loud but that was okay because Fundy lived alone.

“I need to talk to you. Now promise you’re not gonna start screamin’ and shit.”

“I promise.” Fundy said, shuffling back and crossing his legs so Tommy had room to climb onto the bed. “You sound different.”

“Fucked up my throat is all. Just another battle scar, big man.”

“Oh.” Fundy blinked and brought a paw up to his cheek, brushing through the mussed up fur there. “Can you tell me why you’re waking me up at- fucking- what, four in the morning?”

“You remember the ball, right?”

“Yeah, ‘course. Dream blew up the place chasing a funny little rodent stranger and broke a leg when a horse fell on him. Kinda hilarious, very hard to forget.”

“Not a rodent.” Tommy grumbled. He didn’t realize what he’d said until Fundy gave him an odd look. “Uh- Runner made you a promise, didn’t he?”

“Yeah. Said he’d teach me better control of my shifting, but I haven’t seen him since.”

“I’m Runner.”

Fundy shot his gaze up, scanning Tommy’s expression for any hint of fabrication. When he spoke next, his voice sounded small. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” Tommy tried a smile, extending a hand to Fundy. He hadn’t actually been able to hear, with the softness of the one word, but reading lips was easy enough when that was all that had been said. “Come onto my other side and brighten up, big man. I made you a promise and I’m here to teach you.”

Fundy almost tripped on the blankets and fell forward in his scramble to move next to Tommy’s good side. He settled down and Tommy emitted a relieved sound when he could tell what Fundy was doing again.

“Who all knows?” Fundy asked, watching with wide eyes as Tommy shook and came back in a form akin to Fundy’s. He still hated the charred feeling of the now-black fur, the inability to fully sense with singed whiskers, but he had to do this. Picking up Wilbur’s slack, for Fundy.

“Um.. you, Tubbo, Dream, and maybe Phil and Techno. Not sure about them.” He could leave out that Wilbur had known. That would cause unnecessary hurt that Tommy wasn’t equipped to handle. “You ready?”

“Ye’h!” Fundy’s excitement spilled into his words, pitching them up in a yip. Tommy smiled faintly and pressed his hands over Fundy’s ears.

“This is how I learned. Just listen to me, okay? It’ll sound muffled because my hands are over your ears, but imagine that you can hear it clearly and the sound is coming from lower down. Like where a human’s ears are. Once you get it down you won’t have to cover your ears, it just helps to envision-“

He was cut off by the ears and fur disappearing beneath his hands- which was fine, because he’d been rambling anyway. Tommy leaned back, shook himself out so that he looked fully human again, and was looking into the bright and misty eyes of an overjoyed and fully human nephew.

Fundy tackled him in a hug and Tommy yelped as he fell back into the bed. Lanky limbs jabbed painfully against his injuries and Tommy laughed anyway because Fundy looked more happy than he’d ever seen him.

“Thank you,” Fundy whispered, face pressed into Tommy’s chest. The vibrations sent through the latter, near identical to Tubbo’s, were the only reason he was able to interpret the apology. Still, he managed a smile and returned the hug.

“You’re welcome.” He murmured, patting Fundy once, then twice before letting go and pulling away. “This is a secret, fox boy, keep your trap shut. I was never here.”

“Of course.” Fundy murmured, and then Tommy was gone.


	52. Have You Ever Loved Enough to Destroy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for gore and death at the beginning
> 
> chapter title lyrics from [we are gods! we are wolves!](https://youtu.be/zCzUW38zv0E)

The area was dark and dim, stone walls closing in on Phil as he flared his wings behind him.

_Making himself larger. Natural instinct._

His hold on his sword tightened, the blade blue and glistening with hard-won enchantments. Panic and close proximity to an explosion made his ears ring, the walls were closing in on him, there was nothing in the damned room except a crazed Wilbur and that _damned button-_

Wilbur’s warm hands closed around Phil’s, lifting the sword. The blue of the blade intercepted Phil’s vision, obscuring half of Wilbur’s face from view.

“Do it, Phil. Kill me.”

_Killza. Killza. Killza._

Phil was fighting a losing battle, getting sucked underwater by a tide that was rising to kill him. He felt distant, lacking control.

“You’re my son!”

His world blurred together. Wilbur was speaking, and Phil was too, but he wasn’t processing the words coming out of his own mouth. Water was slithering down his throat, cutting off his air and _choking him_ and he just needed _out_.

Phil ripped his hands away from Wilbur’s grasp, the warmth of the touch a burning brand across his skin. He switched the sword to one hand, gripped Wilbur’s shoulder tightly in his free grasp, and he acted in a way that felt fake.

The sword had lowered in a limp arm but suddenly plunged upward, embedding in the soft of Wilbur’s gut. The air gained a distinctly metallic twang over the smell of gunpowder and smoke, and the water was cut from him. Phil was freed.

So was Wilbur.

The ringing of Phil’s ears cleared, replaced with the sickening crack of vertebrae under the impact of sharpened diamond deliberately connecting with spine. Phil screamed, and Wilbur spluttered and _smiled,_ and Phil’s whole world was coming down with the buckling of Wilbur’s legs.

Phil let go of the sword, embedded so deeply into the flesh of his son that it did not even waver, and he gathered Wilbur up in his arms and sobbed. Wilbur was struggling to breathe, coughing up red as he was guided carefully to the ground by his father.

“Shh, sh-shh, it’s okay Wilbur. It’s okay.” Phil was choking over his own cries, grasping desperately at the fabric of that trench coat. Wilbur’s head lolled unresponsively to the side. He was still wearing that smile.

Wilbur’s chest fell still and Phil emitted an animalistic scream, feral and wild. Call it the subhuman regard of hybrids or the unbearable pain of a newly grieving parent, but regardless the sound was _not_ that of a man.

Phil sobbed and cried and cursed the stars for his own inability, for the loss of his son’s sanity and then final life, and the blood stained his hands red and burned with the heat of a lost fight.

When Phil jolted upwards, he found no child dead in his grasp. He was not crouched on stone, rocking and shushing a corpse that had long since stopped hearing him, but surrounded by blankets and furs.

His nest. His bed.

Phil shuddered and rubbed at his eyes, clothes uncomfortably hugging his frame with cold sweat as its adhesive. Next, he checked his hands.

They were not stained with blood (at least not in the literal sense), but he still felt the need to wash them.

Phil swung his legs over the edge of his bed, struggled to escape from the twining hold of the sheets, and then crept out of the room and to the bathroom. He hovered by the sink, turned the water onto it’s hottest setting, and plunged his hands beneath the stream.

He did not pull them back until he had scrubbed his palms red and raw.

With a puff, he decided to go check on his remaining sons. Wilbur may be gone, but Phil would not make that mistake of neglect again.

First was Techno’s room, as it was nearest his own. He quietly creaked the door open, saw that the hulking lump of warrior beneath the sheets was sleeping soundly, and retreated again. The pig hybrid was not his greatest concern, regardless of how much he cared for him.

Phil made his way down the hall to Tommy’s room and opened the door. The bed was empty- cause for a brief panic until he remembered Tommy staying in the living room- and the palette on the floor held a soft mound of Tubbo. Okay, that was fine. He just needed to find wherever Tommy had fallen asleep.

Phil’s steps landed quietly over the wooden floor as he crept out of the hall and into the main living area. Sure enough, there was a little bundle of blankets beneath Phil’s chair where Tommy was presumably curled up.

Unwilling to let Tommy finish the rest of the night on the floor, he crept forward and stooped to lift his youngest son. 

What he lifted was light. Impossibly light, even moreso than Tommy had been when he’d first started staying with the Arctic Commune. Now, Tommy was still a little slim- his cheekbones were a little too prominent, joints a little too sharp- but he’d filled out and was definitely much healthier than he had been. Muscle was heavier than fat and Tommy was mostly muscle now, there was no way he weighed so little.

Phil dropped the empty blankets with a frown. Tommy had left before, he knew because some mornings he woke up to watery footprints of melted snow leading from the front door to the bedroom. Tommy had always come back, so he knew he had no reason to worry, but-

Tommy had been through so much already. He was going deaf in one ear (which Phil wasn’t sure had truly occurred to his youngest), his voice was permanently shot, his back was mottled with terrible burns and shrapnel wounds; really, Tommy could handle himself, but he was hurt and it was dark out and Phil was worried. And so he settled down on his chair, cracked the blinds, and waited.

After a while, Techno ambled into the room. His fur was messy, eyes mostly closed, and he parted his jaws in a wide yawn. “What on earth are you doin’ sitting around at this hour?”

“Waiting for Tommy.” Phil explained, not removing his eyes from the window. “He left some time last night and isn’t back yet.”

“Idiot.” Techno muttered, shuffling back into the shadows of the hall. “Have fun with your lurkin’, then.”

“Sure thing, Tech.”

Phil went back to waiting. The minutes dragged on into hours until finally the front door was open.

It was just a crack, at first, until a gust of late winter wind pushed the door out of the grasp of whoever had opened it. There was a muffled curse, flurries of snow was swept in, and a disgruntled Tommy stumbled in. He flung his hands against the door, slamming it shut with a bang, and cringed.

“Hello, Tommy.” Phil greeted, voice cool with paternal calculation. “Where were you?”

Tommy whirled around, eyes wide. Phil realized his hair was spiking up, tufts of blond standing on end as he was startled.

“I was- uh, hunting. With Techno. The deers are out when the moon is out, you know how they are, ha-ha.”

Phil narrowed his eyes. A shadow glided into the room, arms folded over their chest.

“I want you to try that again.” Techno rumbled. Tommy went pale.

“Oh, fuck you, I can take a walk when I want to. Dick. Bitch. Yeah, you’re a right bitch. Cornerin’ me and shit.”

“We’re not cornering you.” Phil pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “You ran out and you’re hurt.”

Tommy was quiet for a few long moments. Phil’s heart shattered when the boy dropped his gaze and tensed, rumbling an apology.

“It’s okay, Tommy.” Phil’s voice was taught, but Tommy was all tensed up and closed off, he clearly wouldn’t be getting anywhere tonight. “Go back to sleep.”

“Okay. G’night, Dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [proceeds to stab you in the face and then stick a bandaid on it]


	53. Your Anger (sent the dove into the air)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [FANART TIME!](https://twitter.com/rustiicat/status/1358351147103178752?s=21) runner at the ball, spare a dance for the new guy :D

Breakfast the next morning was tense.

It didn’t start out like that, exactly, but Techno made a comment regarding Dream that had Tommy tightening his hold on his fork.

Phil and Techno jumped backwards at the same time like Tommy was a dog that had just bared his fangs. Tubbo, a little out of the loop as he’d never been stabbed by Tommy wielding a pronged object, had a very delayed response and didn’t jolt away from the table until full seconds after the eldest two had already done so.

“What?” Tubbo asked, raising his hands. The family before him were all facing off like wolves about to fight over a kill, bristling and staring each other down. One wrong move and he felt blood would be drawn.

He was not granted an answer. Tommy slammed his plate down on the table and grabbed his bread before stalking off towards his room.

Tubbo- not yet welcomed back into the family and unwilling to play friendly with two war criminals who looked just about ready to start snapping spines- also leapt to his feet and scurried after the blond.

That was something he’d learned about Tommy following their reunion. He was just _so_ easy to tip into silence. One comment about the wrong thing, one reaction that was a little too reminiscent of someone else’s mannerisms, and Tommy’s eyes were fogging over and his jaw was sent tightening in a way that exposed the next few hours as silent.

He stopped trying to push for conversation. He would only get clipped, one-word answers if anything at all; he had to let Tommy come to him- had to ‘lure him out’, as Phil had put it.

That wasn’t to say that he couldn’t talk _to_ Tommy. Once both boys were shut up in Tommy’s room, Tubbo took his place flopped over on the foot of the bed like a faithful dog and rambled without expectation of conversation.

“There’s so much snow here all the time, I bet we could play some of the games that we used to as kids. Back when we actually got to go out and _play_ in winters, you know?” Tubbo started. Their childhoods were a touchy subject, especially when Tommy was already fading out as he was, but Tubbo knew his friend well enough by now that he was _in_ on which memories would be acceptable and which ones weren’t. “Maybe even some that weren’t just for winter. Like ‘king of the hill’, you remember that one? There’s not enough dirt here to make a mound but I bet we could find enough ice to pack into a hill easy.”

Tommy’s eyes were trained on the window. There was a quiet murmur that flitted across the room, and Tubbo caught it.

“Say again?”

“There’s only two of us, not enough for king of the hill. Unless you want a really boring game.”

Tubbo had to hide his smile. He hadn’t actually been anticipating a response from Tommy- which was good, maybe they could get out there and play something soon. “Well, Phil and Techno are the only ones around, and that’d be unfair for us. Techno can just truck us and Phil has those huge wings. Maybe sometime soon we can build an ice mound and then get Ranboo to come play with us.”

“I’d like that,” Tommy mused before he seemed to remember his usual facade. He took a wiggling path in squaring his shoulders and turned his gray gaze to Tubbo. “-Bitch. He’s all gangly though, he’ll smack us away with his beanpole limbs before we can even get close.”

Tubbo’s snicker came easy. “I like a bit of a challenge.” 

“Suit yourself.” Tommy chuffed, turning straight ahead again and fixating back on the landscape outside the window. Tubbo hummed.

“I don’t imagine you want to do that today?”

“Not really, no.”

“That’s okay.” Tubbo shifted so that his head was nearer Tommy’s leg, laying and using the rise of his body under the blankets as a pillow. “We can do it another time, big man, just tell me the ‘when’. Oh, we’ll have so much fun. It’ll be like old times again.”

Tommy let out a snicker but provided nothing else in the way of conversation, so Tubbo stretched his arms out and prepared to continue talking to fill the silence.

He’d just drawn in a breath when a knock sounded at the door. He saw Tommy stiffen, visible even out of his peripheral- so before the other boy got the chance to get up, Tubbo rolled off the bed to check instead.

Tubbo just barely cracked the door open and stuck his face into the gap that was created. He looked up through his eyelashes at a scowling Technoblade.

Tubbo refused to turn his head up to better see the boar hybrid. Staying as he was kept the stubs of his horns poised defensively, and Tubbo was unwilling to let Techno in just yet when Tommy didn’t seem to want to talk.

“What do you need?” Tubbo asked, plastering on a smile. His words dripped with the same sickly sweetness of a strength potion. 

“I want to talk to Tommy.”

There was a faint slide that ended with a _thwump_ \- the sound of a window shutting. Techno heard it too, guessing by the perceptive twitch of his ears.

Tubbo kept up his stupid grin and pushed the bedroom door open. If Techno wanted in, fine. The room was now empty anyway.

“You know, he just left.” The boy sung, turning to look out at the bedroom. The one picture on the wall- the L’Manburg Christmas tree, held to the plaster by a single tack- fluttered with the newly cut-off gust of wind.

Techno growled, rounded on Tubbo and seized the front of his shirt in large, hooved hands. Tubbo just grinned up at the now-murderous looking hybrid, expression cheeky and narrow like a grinning cat.

“Ever since you came back, Tommy’s gotten a lot harder to talk to-“ Techno raved, shaking Tubbo up and down as he did so. Tubbo, being a hybridized creature built for skull-on-skull impact, was spared from any dizziness or headache and just allowed himself to be shook.

“Techno!” A scolding voice sounded faint from down the hall, the tone of a parent who was sensing their oldest beginning to harass a younger child. “Put the boy down!”

There was a thump as Techno’s fists opened, depositing Tubbo on the ground. The drop left him reeling in a way that the shaking hadn’t and it took him a few moments to catch his breath.

“You know,” Tubbo panted once he’d regained himself, “Maybe it’d help if you were less angry.”

Techno gave the younger boy a withering, downward look before rounding on his heels and stomping out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> techno, holding a gun to tubbo’s head: tell me the name of god you piece of shit
> 
> tubbo: can you feel your heart burning? can you feel the struggle within? the fear within me is beyond anything your soul can make. you cannot kill me in a way that matters
> 
> techno, cocking the gun, tears streaming down his face: IM NOT FUCKING SCARED OF YOU


	54. Don’t Come ‘Round Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this was meant to be posted on the sixteenth but it got postponed because of writers block :] it was also supposed to be much angstier but c’est la vie

Maybe he shouldn’t have just… up and left, Tommy mused, but that house had gotten so _suffocating_ and so quickly. And so he was trudging through the snow without his outdoor coat, arms pulled around his lithe form in a meager hug.

Tommy always dressed warm- especially since his room had a window- and his gloves hardly ever left his hands so he wasn’t at immediate risk of hypothermia. Still, the cold punctured the insulation of his sweater and sunk its claws into the blond.

He kept walking, gaze held steadily on the horizon like the cold didn’t bother him. If he didn’t acknowledge it, it’d go away.

It did not, in fact, go away.

His breath billowed out before him in cottony puffs. Tommy had half a mind to turn around and go back, but doing so already would feel like defeat. He knew it. And he liked being outside anyway, it was just the damn _chill_.

A gust of wind kicked up loose flurries of snow, sending them dancing over the white dunes in fluffy clouds. Tommy was unable to suppress a shudder at that and chose instead to alter his direction into the woods.

After only a few minutes of wandering, he made out the stone wall of a cliff face amongst the pines.

And, well. Tommy wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He didn’t even _like_ horses.

He upped his pace to a march _(or, rather, a prance, knees lifting high like a show horse to avoid the snow; it was a gait that Wilbur had teased him for a lifetime ago)_ with the intention of using the landmark for shelter against the cold. 

A good shelter it was, too. As soon as he was near enough for it to be of any use, the wall combined with the trees served to break up the wind and keep the biome from feeling any colder than it already was.

Maybe he couldn’t touch the wall since stone radiated cold, and maybe he couldn’t sit down lest he get his clothes wet and be _really_ susceptible to frostbite, but he was now at home in the woods and significantly less miserable.

Even if his teeth were chattering endlessly.

Regardless, Tommy was out here now. He could handle the cold. It wasn’t even winter anymore; months had passed since he’d been scooped up from exile all the way back on that foggy day in December. The season was giving way to spring.

The arctic apparently hadn’t gotten the memo. It was still cold as hell.

Tommy shook out his pant leg and huffed, letting clumps of snow flutter off and back to the ground. He could- maybe he should get something done while he was out here.

~~_You’re a liability, Tommy._ ~~

Yeah, he’d get something done.

Tommy lifted his gaze to the sky, to the branches weaving a web that intercepted his view of the sun. He yearned to shuffle up there, to stretch out on a branch and doze, but he-

His train of thought darkened to a buzzing trance of height, of wood and cobblestone and _air._ Tommy shuddered and snapped his gaze ahead again.

Being bound to the ground limited his options. He couldn’t go too far, unless he get lost or lose the cliff face, but there wasn’t exactly much to do around here.

Tommy looked to his hands, to the leather gloves shielding his scarred skin from the elements.

The hide would protect his hands from getting wet, probably. It’d be fine.

Tommy dropped to a crouch in the snow, holding himself up on his toes while sitting on his heels to keep himself from getting too wet. Then, carefully, he began sifting through the snow.

After minutes of pawing through the white powder, Tommy grumbled. His fingers were growing numb.

“It’s too early to find anything, this is so dumb.” Tommy complained out loud, speaking to no one in particular. “I’m just gonna come back with dirty hands and blue lips and-“

Beneath his fingers was a small sprig of green.

“Oh, poggers.” Tommy blanked, sitting up in mild surprise. “I guess I spoke too soon.”

Carefully, he started excavating the snow from around the plant to try and see what it was. One of the first plants of the new spring- and Tommy fully intended to take it home if it was something useful. No way it’d survive this cold.

Three leaves, the edges serrated. The plant looked pitiful, tiny and shriveled from frost and lack of sunlight. 

“Ginseng.” Tommy mused. Carefully he pulled away and tried to dig at the ground.

Tommy emitted a growl as he realized that the earth was too frozen to uproot. At least, not barehanded like he was trying to do.

After a few more useless scrapes against the ice, he gave in and ripped a glove off. Tommy shut his eyes, and when he opened them the world seemed a little less dark.

The shadows were easier to peer into. When he looked down, his fingertips were black and pointed into sharp claws. 

Tommy quickly looked up again. The fur was still too short, burned and lacking any of its softness, and it made bile rise in the back of his throat. It was disgusting. _He_ was disgusting.

Still, he had to save the little plant. The plant couldn’t help that Tommy was a monster and had to show such to be able to do anything on his own. He pressed his claws into the ice and pushed.

There was a rippling series of quiet cracks and pops like he’d just sliced into something as soft as styrofoam and not ice. Suddenly he was pulling up a handful of dirt with a pitiful bunch of leaves sprouting from it.

Tommy apologized to the plant he had to set it down to shift back and pull his glove back on. As soon as he was situated, he recollected as much of the dirt as he could salvage and adjusted the leaves in his hands.

“That was a lot of work,” Tommy instructed the herb, “and if you die after this I’ll be pissed.”

Tommy’s hand was painfully cold now, stinging in a weird limbo between numbness and not. He paid it no mind as he cradled the ginseng to his chest and started off back towards the cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoot me a subscribe maybe i post a bunch of tommy content and have more in the works :]


	55. Please Don’t Find Me

By the time Tommy reached the cabin, his fingers were long since numb; curled in the furls of frosted sediment and root of the dying plant. He clambered through the window and into his empty room, bits of earth getting jostled free and flaking to the floorboards with the movement.

Faintly, he wondered where his family was. Some nasty little part of him hissed that they heard him enter, just didn’t care that he left in the first place, but he shook it off. He was too cold and miffed to worry about that now.

Tommy kicked his shoes off into the corner before plodding out of his room and towards the kitchen.

“Heya, Tommy.” Phil greeted when the younger poked his head into the room. There was a sharp look in his eye, the calculating edge that he took on whenever a scolding was on the tip of his tongue. “Where you been?”

“Out.” Tommy shrugged the question off and lifted the mound of dirt in his hands. “You got an old bowl?”

“Uh, sure.” There was the sound of his book shutting as Phil rose to his feet to scrounge the cupboards. “You’re gettin’ dirt everywhere. Clean that up when you’re done, you’ll make Techno mad.”

“Sure, sure.” Tommy deflected easily. He had no intentions to do such a thing. It was his civic duty as little brother to smear earth all along the house and then not clean it up. “Whatever you say, Phil.”

Phil grunted, clearly not convinced, and set the bowl down on the table.

Tommy dumped what remained of the dirt in the bowl, patting it down and making sure that the plant was situated. Suddenly he realized the quietness of the house and stilled.

“Uh, Phil?” He tried, looking over his shoulder at the avian. Phil just hummed acknowledgement from where he’d tucked back into his book.

“Yeah, mate?”

“Where’s Techno and Tubbo?”

“Started chasing each other around about half an hour ago. I told them ‘take it outside, you’ll knock something over in here’, I’m sure they’re fine. Probably just throwin’ things at each other and shit.”

“Oh.” That wasn’t particularly reassuring. Before Tommy could get a second word out about it, though, a knock sounded at the door.

Tommy flew to his feet. Phil still seemed unbothered.

“I’ll get it,” Tommy informed his father, despite Phil already looking like he was counting on that, and darted into the living room.

He flung open the door and was met with the chimeric form of Ranboo, hunched over in the doorframe and clutching his arm. Something was _wrong_ about him, Tommy could just tell, like he instinctively knew when any of his other brothers were hurting.

The dark, velvety black fur of Ranboo’s enderman half stood out harshly against the backdrop of snow. The footsteps taken here were trudging, Tommy could tell by the two parallel ruts connecting the footprints together, which was odd given Ranboo’s long legs and his aversion to snow. He should have been able to march and minimize contact, but he hadn’t.

Tommy looked up at the other boy- into his eyebrows, technically, because eye contact was a big no-go but eyebrows were fine for some reason and it was close enough that Tommy didn’t feel awkward and _gods_ what was wrong with Ranboo. His expression was dark, he was still clutching his forearm, and the look in his eyes screamed grief and betrayal and hurt all at once.

“Let’s run away.”

Those were the first words out of Ranboo’s mouth, essentially freezing Tommy’s whole world and shattering it all at once.

Tommy’s hearing was, decidedly, shit. If he wasn’t sure before, he definitely was now.

“...What?”

“Let’s run away. Out of L’Manburg, out of the Dream SMP, all of it.”

“No introduction, huh?” Tommy gritted out, grabbing Ranboo’s good arm and pulling him inside. “No, ‘hi, Tommy’, no ‘I’m at your house despite you never telling me where you live, sorry Tommy’, no nothing? What the hell happened?”

Ranboo winced as Tommy led him into the bathroom. The latter ignored Phil’s distant, curious questioning from the kitchen.

“I- sorry, that was a bit much, I don’t know what got into me-“ Ranboo suddenly seemed very flustered, his anger dissipated as he was pushed to sit on the counter. His legs folded up to his chest awkwardly.

“Shut up.” Tommy grumbled, grabbing Ranboo’s hand and pulling it away from his arm. That was when he realized the entire half of the suit was wet- mostly the left arm, but splotches along his chest and shoulder as well. He cursed and grabbed a towel as Ranboo started to pull off his jacket. “You still haven’t told me what happened.”

“Oh.” Ranboo blinked down at himself as his undershirt was exposed. “It- Quackity was going somewhere, and he had a bucket of water, I don’t remember what he said he was doing. But he- he bumped into me, and he spilled it all over me, and I don’t think it was an accident.”

Tommy blinked, then growled. With renewed anger, he pulled Ranboo’s shirt away.

(He remembered Phil pulling his shirt away after he’d been burned, and made sure to be extra careful.)

The skin looked _awful_. Melted down, almost, like when water gets poured into a dry powder and the powder part just _disappears._ Bits of skin had seemingly dissipated into thin air, and the edge of the injury bubbled up with retained moisture. Tommy continued cursing.

“Why would he do that!” He snapped aloud, dabbing at the water with the towel. Ranboo only screwed his eyes shut.

“I- I don’t know, but they hate me back there, Tommy. I don’t know what I did! They’ll kill me one of these days!”

Tommy’s mind flashed to other places briefly, his hand stilling. Being massacred in a dark box by people he trusted, choking on his own blood with an arrow through his chest as Wilbur held and cried and shushed him.

When he returned to himself, Ranboo was looking at him. There was a sadness in his eyes, pulling the hybrid’s oversized ears down with the weight of his grief.

“I’m so tired of it.” Ranboo admitted, rubbing at his eye with a wrist before the tears could fall and burn him further. “All the fighting, Tommy. We’re _kids_ , I want- I want-“

“I’ll go with you,” Tommy promised. His voice was quiet, both to preserve the sincerity of the moment and out of fear that the avian down the hall could hear. Not that Tommy would disappear wordlessly after all Phil and Techno had done to repair their relationships lately, but he wasn’t- he wasn’t ready for them to know yet. Not when he wasn’t even quite ready to _leave_ yet. “Me ’n you ‘n Tubbo, we’ll set out and make our own way. And there won’t be wars and it won’t be a country and it’ll just be us livin’ our lives.”

Ranboo offered a wet smile. Tommy returned it.

“You’re a good friend, Tommy.” The taller murmured, watching as the blond grabbed bandages and burn cream and began dressing the wound. “I don’t- I just asked you to run away from your family and you _agreed._ Thank you.”

“I can’t live with them forever.” Tommy shrugged, swallowing down the sadness that rose in his throat. “They’re agents of chaos. They’ll always be burning and robbing and I don’t think I want to be a part of it anymore.”

“I get that.” Ranboo whispered, raising his hand as Tommy snipped the bandage. “Too much fighting.”

“Too much fighting.” Tommy agreed, before stepping back with a grin.

“Besides, they can’t get rid of me that easily. I’ll be around _plenty._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally FINALLY welcome to act three
> 
> anyways [this video](https://www.instagram.com/reel/CLXbLGhgbCX/?igshid=1md5x4z7f0y4e) is tommy when he goes outside

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know your thoughts, theories, etc in the comments!! i read every one and i love them all so so much
> 
> [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/fishstixx_)


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